40K: Soloman the Blood God
by typicalteenager
Summary: What if you, an ordinary person, ended up beating Khorne and becoming the Blood God yourself? This is what happens to poor trooper Soloman Castern: And then mayhem follows.... an attempted comedy of 40K. Currently rated K plus but will change if need be.
1. Pissing off the Blood God

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 1: Pissing off the Blood God

(Please bear with me: I know I posted this as a comedy: but I need time to set the scene first).

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"And adding in that cultist squad…… that puts your kill count up to 1340."

"Did he say 1340!?!?!?!?!"

"****ing hell dude!"

"You're a killing machine!"

With a broad smile plastered across his face, Trooper Soloman Castern of the Mordian 112th Imperial Guard regiment took in the praise, shock, and awe of his fellow soldiers.

The location of all this was a ruined city, currently the regiment's barracks, on the planet Tenalp. The planet had, until recently, been the site of a large force of Chaos cultists, but the Imperium of Man would never tolerate this, and so had sent the recently-formed Mordian 112th to deal with the cultists. This they had been successful in: the cultists were defeated, the 112th had proven itself, and the regiment now had many heroes.

One of these was the fore-mentioned Soloman Castern.

To look at him, you wouldn't think it. Standing 6 foot tall, with brown hair, green eyes, and a naturally toned body, Soloman was in no way an obvious hero. He certainly wouldn't have said he was one. Yet somehow, he was just good at being a soldier. He didn't go out of his way for kills, and he used the regimental combat style like everyone else, yet while many officers had kill-counts just in triple figures, he was well into a four-digit count and showed no sign of slowing down.

Soloman was pondering this while his comrades still went on.

"Damn you're good Castern!"

"Not even Khorne Berserkers are that good: and they're mad!"

"Hell you're probably more than a match for them!"

"Them? Soloman could probably fight Khorne and come out on top!"

"Yeah! All hail Soloman: the true Blood God!"

The chant soon spread, everyone screaming "The true Blood God!" at the top of their voices. Though he thought they were over-doing it a bit, Soloman didn't stop them: _after all, how often will a standard Guardsman like me get hailed as being greater than the Chaos Blood God himself?_

It was a mistake he would think of for the rest of his life.

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Khorne, the Blood God in question, was sitting atop his ever-growing throne of skulls, slumped on one elbow, while his other hand's fingers tapped at the arm of the throne.

Only one thought was on Khorne's mind. And it was _**I'm bored.**_

He continued to tap his fingers, unaware that this was causing a series of massive earthquakes across a dozen plants. Even if he had noticed, he wouldn't have cared. He was bored, and had been for a while. Since the recent 13th Black Crusade, everything just seemed so….. 'samey'. He couldn't get a truly challenging fight anywhere now, except against the other Chaos gods, and he knew their tactics too well for it to be any real fun. He wanted something new, something unexpected, something he could actually find interesting.

His wish came true 5 minutes later (by Imperial time: the world of the Chaos gods has no true sense of time), when his bloodletter manservant Alix came into his sanctuary. Alix wasn't his real name of course: his real name, which was not pronounceable by non-daemons, was far greater than that, but for some reason Khorne had given them all human names (though no-one asked why: the one time someone had, they'd been instantly incinerated and banished to The Arena of Blood with but a thought).

"Um…. Master?" began Alix tenderly, knowing how wrathful his patron could be.

***Sigh*: "What is it Alix?"** muttered Khorne, too bored to be even slightly angry.

"Well, your bloodiness……… I have found something that……. I think you may want to see."

"**Get on with it."**

Alix did indeed 'get on with it', bringing up a viewing portal for his master.

The viewing portal showed a human, about 21 years old, 6 foot tall, pale-skinned, brown haired, green eyed, and naturally toned, with a bit of blood on his clothes: a Guardsman's uniform, looking very amused. Khorne was about to ask Alix what the **** was this supposed to be about when he heard what the man's comrades were saying. The mocking of Khorne's great Berserkers, the mocking of himself losing to this human, and finally the chant cries of "All hail Soloman: the true Blood God!"

The viewing portal disappeared, it task done.

For 2 hours, Khorne just stared into space, a look of pure shock on his face, his facial muscles squashed painfully since they had never had to make an expression of disbelief before.

Then with a roar that caused yet more earthquakes, Khorne leaped to his feet, landing so hard that the skulls beneath his feet disintegrated, Alix fell off the throne, and two hundred planets spontaneously exploded.

"**INSOLENT HUMANS!!! HOW DARE THEY MOCK ME! I AM THE GREATEST, THE STRONGEST, THE BEST: NO MERE HUMAN COULD EVER HOPE TO MATCH ME!"**

"You are correct your bloodiness" called Alix from somewhere far below him.

" **TOO ****ING TRUE I'M RIGHT!"** howled Khorne. Then an evil grin spread across his face. **"SO THESE HUMANS BELIEVE THAT THIS……. SOLOMAN IS A MATCH FOR ME!!! WELL, I SHALL PROVE THEM WRONG! I SHALL FIND THIS MAN, CHALLENGE HIM, BEAT HIM, AND SCATTER THE REMAINS OF HIS SOUL TO THE VOID! THEN ALL SHALL KNOW THAT I AM KHORNE, AND I… AM… ****UNBEATABLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"**

The room echoed for a long time, Khorne's voice bouncing off the walls, while the Blood God thought of a challenge with which to both beat and mock the human, Alix still somewhere below him with his hands now over his ears. Then a tapping was audible, and Nurgle's voice called through the wall:

"Dude, can you please keep it down? Some of us are trying to get our beauty sleep here!"

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**Typicalteenager:** And so the story begins. I hope you enjoyed this chapter: I'll post chapter 2 as soon as possible.

P.S. I know the description of Soloman, and indeed the whole intro is pretty short, but that's because poor Soloman won't be in the material universe for very long. Bear with me: I know what I'm doing (I hope).


	2. When human meets Blood God

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 2: When human meets Blood God

(Please bear with me: I know I posted this as a comedy: but I need time to set the scene first).

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Back on the planet Tenalp, all was (mostly) quiet. Although many victory parties still went on, the majority had ended, mostly due to drunk soldiers collapsing into unconsciousness.

Personally, Soloman was glad of this. It meant he no longer had to hear the chanting and hailing of him as "the true Blood God!" As flattering as it was, it had become irritating once it reached the 5-hour mark. Thankfully the vast supply of booze had finally managed to shut them up, leaving them passed out on the ground, bottles still in hand. Now he was heading for his tent, intending to get some well-needed rest, and be ready for tomorrow, when the regiment would receive its next orders.

Upon arriving at his tent, just inside the ruined wall of some major hall, he spotted Balez, one of the regiment's three psykers, sitting perfectly still right next to it, staring into space. _Nothing unusual there:_ Balez spent a lot of his time like this. And so Soloman ignored him, heading for the entrance of his tent, and was then caught off-guard when Balez suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Aaaaahhhhh! Damn it Balez: you almost gave me a heart attack".

But Balez seemed oblivious to this. He just stared directly at Soloman, making him very uneasy: _after all, who knows what runs through the mind of a psyker? _Then Balez spoke, in a strange monotone voice:

"Soloman Castern, I bear news for you. I have gazed into the Warp, and I have seen the most incredible thing."

Slightly worried, Soloman replied "what news is this you bring?"

"That you have incurred the wrath of a god. He will challenge you in anger, assuming a victory. But you shall bring him low, and you..........." and Balez whispered the last of his speech, "you shall become the new god in his place."

Soloman stared at Balez, as if his mind was unsure what to say, shocked at what he had heard.

In fact he knew exactly what to say, and said it 2 seconds later, with a slightly annoyed look on his face:

"Okay Balez: how much booze have you drained down your throat?"

" 'Tis not 'booze' that brings this about, trooper, but the whispering of the Warp which my mind forces me to painfully hear."

"Yeah, no doubt aided by a few bottles."

Now Balez stared silently at Soloman. Then he replied, in an angry voice that caught the trooper completely off-guard:

"**Well then **** you, and I hope this god kicks your skinny ****ing ass!"** And with that Balez got up and stormed off.

Soloman watched him storm off with bewilderment. Psykers were usual either silent or spooky: they certainly never got pissed off. Then his body reminded him how tired he was with a yawn, and so he gave up caring, and went into his tent. Within 5 minutes, he was fast asleep.

Fast asleep, and unaware that he had just had his last conversation with another human.

And that 10 minutes later, when Balez came to apologise for his outburst and admit that he had been at the bottle, he found that the tent, and its occupant, had simply vanished without a trace.

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Soloman was having an interesting dream involving himself, a plasma cannon in his hands, and two dozen very scared cultists staining their pants brown on the dangerous end of said cannon, when he was awoken. He looked up, still groggy, to see light pouring through the tent flap, and so got up, grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, and went outside, thinking it was day.

When he got outside, his face dropped into a open-mouthed stare of someone who's just been majorly owned, one hand dropping the toothbrush, the other squeezing the toothpaste so hard that his hand was soon covered in blue, white, and red striped toothpaste.

(**Typicalteenager:** this is because it was Aquafresh toothpaste, which, thanks to awesomely irritating cheap budget advertising at every opportunity, was now celebrating it 4200 and something-th birthday, and was the official toothpaste supplier of the Imperial Guard.)

He was standing in the middle of a large dome-roofed room, which was both windowless and door-less, and seemed to be made entirely out of bronze. The light he had seen was not from a sunrise, but a large lamp on the ceiling giving off a red glow. The room was otherwise completely plain, apart from three other features: the first being his tent, now laying crumpled just behind him: the second being the floor, which, to his added horror and almost made him vomit, was made out of millions of gleaming, polished skulls from every race in existence (and some that were extinct, due mostly to a certain Blood God's intoxicated teenage years).

The third feature was the two beings standing about 30 feet in front, and both staring at him.

The 1st being was obviously a blood-letter of Khorne: he had seen pictures during regimental indoctrination and training, in class 259, lesson 12- **Know Thy Enemy** (he particularly remembered the images of blood-letters since those images had been the ones up when some bright spark pulled the pin of a grenade he'd smuggled into class, thinking it was a dummy, to scare the teacher with: as far as Soloman knew they were still scrubbing his puree remains off the ceiling). But it was the 2nd figure that drew his attention, for it was.........

a man. But with three major differences: humans don't have red skin, they don't have vampire-like fangs, and they sure as hell are not four times taller and three times wider than normal humans, with a dirty fanged grin plastered over their massive faces, and an axe the size of an Ogryn ripper gun hanging from their hand.

Soloman heard the trickling of water, and realised he'd pissed himself, made more embarrassing with the discovery that he was wearing his white pyjamas, which looked pink in the light.

Trying not to make things worse, Soloman managed to squeak out in a shrill voice word-by-word: "Um.... hello. Can........ I.......... help........... you?"

In response, the blood-letter grinned and, unrolling a piece of parchment that had appeared out of thin air (or whatever passed for air in this dome), and read in a clear and authoritative voice:

"Soloman Castern, a.k.a your average pathetic human: you see before you the great blood god himself, his bloodiness the lord Khorne. You have been brought here because other average pathetic humans have dared to claim that you could face his bloodiness and win. This test is your chance to be humiliated and for them to be proven wrong. You will compete with his bloodiness in three challenges, with his faithful manservant Alix- that's me- as the judge. You will undoubtedly lose, after which your soul shall be smashed to shards and scattered to the depths of the void."

The blood-letter/Alix rolled up the parchment with a smirk. "Any questions?"

But Soloman didn't answer, since only half his brain was registering what was being said.

The other half was conjuring up an image of Balez, looking very smug and amused, repeatedly chanting "I told you so, I told you so, I told you so......"

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**Typicalteenager:** And so, with Soloman finding himself royally screwed, will he be able to survive this nightmare he is now well over his head into? What are these three challenges that will determine his victory or soul-smashing? And why does Khorne have such a massive axe: is he compensating for something- who knows? I sure don't.

All will be revealed (well, the 1st two points at least) in chapter 3 of Soloman the Blood God!


	3. Of mice and a very feminist daemon

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 3: Of mice and (a very feminist) daemon

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With Soloman's mind thinking of Balez ("I told you so, I told you so, I told you so......"), he never replied to Alix's question, so Alix, still smirking, simply said "Very well then, let us call up a portal, and-"

But he was interrupted by a low, rumbling, voice, that shook Soloman out of his stupor, and which said: **"No Alix: you are not to be the Judge"**.

It took a moment for Soloman to realise that Khorne himself had spoken.

Alix's face was staring at Khorne in what seemed to be the closest thing that a blood-letter's face could get to shock. "B-b-b-but your bloodiness-"

"**No Alix." **interjected Khorne, turning to face him. **"The three challenges' rules state that there must be an impartial judge to oversee the two competitors: a position you, Alix, are not likely to fulfil in some attempt to please me so as to avoid any future displeasure from me."**

"But your bloodiness, I have been with you for the last 7 millennia."

"**So has Nurgle's 'limb' rot. Now get out".** And with a wave of his hand, Khorne sent Alix to the far side of the Warp, where he would be no bother.

He hadn't wanted to do that. Not because he particularly liked Alix or anything, but because he knew who the judge was going to have to be.

Just as he went to summon 'him', he turned to face Soloman (who was currently staring at the space Alix had occupied until 10 seconds ago, his brain trying to un-hear the 'limb' rot comment) and said, in an almost apologetic tone: **"I very sorry. I wouldn't wish this....... guy, on my worst enemy, but he's the only daemon in the entire Warp that will be impartial"**. And then he summoned............

Mortraz.

The Grand Slave-lord, Mighty Overseer, Master of men........ And self proclaimed Fashion Guru.

With a flash of purple light, Mortraz came into the room.

And prompted Soloman to stare in disbelief.

With smooth and unblemished white skin, an hour-glass yet well-built figure, strong blond hair, and bright blue eyes, he looked like the perfect man: In physical appearance anyway. This however was ruined by the fact that he wore fluorescent pink hot-pants, had symbols tattoo-ed in fluorescent pink on his chest, perfectly trimmed finger and toe-nails painted fluorescent pink, and had fluorescent pink eye-liner and lipstick. In addition to this, he stood with one hand on his hip, and the other held in front of his face so that his fingernails just touched his lips. The final conformation about his nature was when his first words, spoken in a very camp voice, were: "Khorne darrrrling, its sooooooo good to see you again. Ooooooooh: I see you've been working out too."

Khorne sighed. **"Hello Mortraz."**

Soloman just continued to stare, unsure whether or not to laugh, trying to work out if this was an attempt of the Blood God's at humour. He was also unaware of how lucky he was to still be able to stare: normally the sight of Mortraz's hot-pants alone caused humans and daemons alike to claw out their eyes and scream as they tried in vain to 'un-see' the horror.

Khorne sighed again, and continued. **"Look I'm just going to cut to the chase here: three challenges, me and this human, need an impartial judge, a.k.a you."**

Mortraz turned his head in Soloman's direction, raising an eyebrow in amusement as he looked him up and down (mostly down). "Why of course darling: As long as I get my usual pay, I'll be happy to judge you and the little beef-cake here."

Soloman resisted the impulse to rip his ears off- the damage was already done.

Khorne rolled his eyes. **"Yes yes I'll send the teddy daemons to your realm afterwards as usual."** At this he turned his head to Soloman, his face set in an expression that clearly meant 'don't ask'.

Soloman wasn't going to ask. But he did have another question on his mind. "Um..." he began, "I don't suppose 'sorry' will clear all this up?"

The hardening of Khorne's expression answered that immediately. "Fair enough, fair enough" he interjected hastily. "Well then, one last question before we begin: just for the record, what would happen if, by some major gathering of millions of miracles, I manage to win?"

Mortraz pursed his lips and raised his eyes to the ceiling in thought, then said "You know, little beef-cake, (Soloman again resisted ear-ripping impulses) I don't have a clue: darrrrling here has always won these challenges so we've never needed to know".

A vein on Khorne's forehead pulsed: he clearly wanted to rip his ears off as much as Soloman did, although he could equally be wanting to rip Mortraz in half. **"Can we please get on with these challenges now? I've got better things to do, and the soul-smasher only has a 5-hour rent time on it."**

"Of course darrrrling." And so with a twirl of his body, Mortraz cried out "Let the three challenges of Khorne... BEGIN!"

With a snap of his fingers, Mortraz made everything dissolve into a series of technicolour bubbles..........

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............ before reforming themselves a few seconds later.

The trio were now in a smaller version of the dome they'd just been in, minus the tent. In here, in the centre of the room, was a large anvil, made out of some black metallic material. Around the room, hanging from the walls, were lots of swords, axes, spears, hammers, etc. of various sizes, materials, and etched-in symbols.

"First," began Mortraz, all speech-like, "A god must be the strongest, above all others. You will each choose any weapon in the room, and strike the anvil with it. The one who breaks it is the winner. If neither competitor breaks it, then the one who does the most damage is the winner. You can only have one strike." Mortraz now turned to Khorne with a smile. "Darrrrling, you go first."

The vein pulsing on his forehead again, Khorne looked around the room, before going over to the far right of the room. From here, he seemed to ponder for a moment, before putting down his axe, and picking a very large hammer made of some stone material. He walked up to the anvil, stood very still in front of it, then with a guttural roar he swung the hammer above his head with both hands, and brought it crashing down on the anvil, which let out a sharp metallic boom and a loud cracking noise.

Khorne gave a satisfied grin, went and put the hammer back on the wall, picked up his axe, then returned to Mortraz. Looking at the anvil, Soloman saw that it had a deep fissure down the middle of it, almost touching the bottom. Then as he watched the anvil gave off a blue-tinged glow, and in a few seconds was perfectly repaired again, as if nothing had happened.

Mortraz now turned to Soloman. "Your turn now, little beef-cake."

Soloman gulped. He was almost pissing himself again.

The fact was that he had no chance of winning this: he wasn't going to have the strength to lift half of these weapons, and the half he could lift wouldn't do nearly as much damage as Khorne had done. But if he lost, his soul was going to smashed and scattered to the void. If he tried to back out, he would probably count as surrendering, and so get soul-smashed anyway.

Since he didn't want to die, there was only one thing he could do now, the best thing to do in this situation:

Cheat.

_But how exactly am I going to cheat on this challenge?_ was the next thought in his mind. _All I can do is choose any weapon, and hope to the God-Emperor that it'll-_

_Wait..._

_ANY weapon?_

And though his brain screamed at him that this was going to be suicidal, Soloman knew that it was his only hope.

He went straight up to Khorne, took a deep breath to prepare himself for this, and then reached out and tugged at the daemonic axe out of the Blood God's red hands. Using all of his strength he managed to pluck it from the daemonic God's loose grip. Khorne, not expecting this, tried to hold on to it, failed, stumbled forwards, and ended up face-planting the floor with a loud crack.

Soloman meanwhile was stumbling about himself: the axe was far heavier than he'd expected. Just as he reached the anvil, he over-balanced, and toppled forwards. The axe swung out wildly as he fell, and the very tip of it clipped the edge of the anvil.

It was enough. With a screeching roar, the anvil didn't so much break but more like disintegrated in an explosion that blasted a layer of metallic dust all over the room.

Ears still ringing, Soloman picked himself off the floor, brushing some of the dust off. He then took another deep breath, and slowly turned, dreading how Khorne was going to react.

But Khorne was currently distracted. His sudden introduction to the floor had left him with blood trickling out of his nose, and Mortraz, repeatedly coo-ing "My poor darrrrling", had conjured up a handkerchief and was attempting to wipe away the blood. The Blood God was understandably resisting, since not only would allowing such an act ruin his reputation, and the fact that the hankie stunk as though it had been washed in Lily of the Valley perfume, but Mortraz kept spitting on it at intervals between wipes.

Soloman was beginning to wonder if he'd gone mad, and that this was all some sort of hallucination or something. After all, during training the regiment had been warned repeatedly by priests of the evils of daemons and the horrors they hold in their minds for use against men, and yet this looked like some very poor daemonic attempt at a Terra TV Gold comedy sketch.

(**Typicalteenager:** The 42nd millennium T.V. channel Terra TV Gold is the bastardised descendant of UKTV Gold, and still shows re-runs of popular now extremely old comedy shows, such as The Two Ronnies, Morecombe and Wise, and the Blackadder series).

Deciding to take advantage of Khorne being too distracted to be wrathful, Soloman managed to say in what he hoped was a jaunty, winning voice: "Well then Mr. Mortraz, I seem to have won this challenge: shall we move on to challenge number 2?"

"Yes yes little beef-cake, just give me a second to wipe off the last of this blood from darrrrling's face."

Khorne finally managed to break free of Mortraz and began to cry **"Now hang on a minute-"** But he never got to finish, for Mortraz gave another snap of his fingers, and the world again dissolved into technicolour bubbles.

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**Typicalteenager:** So by some miracle Soloman has survived challenge 1: but can he pull it off twice more, and so save his soul from the smasher (or delay so the 5 hour rent time runs out)? Chapter 4 shall let us see if he can.

**Warning:** It was shear dumb luck that Khorne fell over and was too distracted to be wrathful. For all readers hoping to challenge some god or 'higher being' themselves, please don't try this at home: I don't want to have to pay the cleaning bill(s) to remove the charred remains out of your parents' carpets.


	4. Chess: Daemonic style

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 4: Chess- daemonic style

(Note: Sorry for lack of activity. Hopefully I'll be able to do quite a few chapters during the summer).

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After a moment of complete darkness, the technicolour bubbles reformed into the room of the second challenge. If you could call it a room.

Here, everything was completely void of colour and empty, stretching as far as the eye could see and beyond: an endless mass of white. The only objects in the room were three wooden chairs of different sizes, a round wooden table, and........

A chess set.

Soloman felt a fresh wave of disbelief hit him, and before he could stop himself exclaimed "What the ****? The second challenge is a game of chess- you must be joking."

Khorne simply ignored his outburst, and went to sit in the largest chair. Mortraz on the other hand raised an eyebrow at Soloman, and replied "Well little beef-cake, I guess you've never played a god's version of chess then. Please, sit in the chair opposite darrrrling, and all will be revealed."

Still disbelieving what was happening, Soloman went and sat in the smallest chair, now wondering how the hell they were supposed to play since he now discovered that there were no pieces to use, while Mortraz went to the final seat and sat down: cross-legged of course. But as he did so, the mass of white all around them seemed to fade away, like the effect of a flash-grenade dying away, and when it had completely gone, Soloman's jaw dropped in complete shock.

They were now sitting in the air of some planet, the sun blazing down indicating that was midday, about 50 feet off the ground. The ground in question was a barren grey landscape of some moon, with a valley directly below them. And on either side of this valley were two armies: one of chaos space marines, the other an ork horde.

Mortraz reached over and pushed Soloman's still open jaw shut, then he made his second speech: "Second, a god must have power over the material universe, and be able to bend it to his will. This challenge shall be a game of chess: darrrrling shall play as the chaos marines, and little beef-cake will play as the orks. The winner of this game will win the challenge."

Confused, Soloman's gaze returned to the chess board, and found that he now had playing pieces, but which resembled the orks below him. The king for instance was represented by a mega-armoured ork warboss, and his 'queen' was a rag-clothed orc weirdboy. Khorne's pieces too were modelled on his force: his 'king' was a chaos terminator commander, his 'queen' a chaos sorcerer.

Mortraz smiled at them both. "Well now: good luck gentlemen, and...... begin."

Khorne now looked at Soloman for the first time since the beginning of the previous challenge, and the black voids he called eyes were filled with loathing. **"You may have won the first challenge human," **he muttered,his voice full of barely-suppressed rage, **"but here you will fail, and you will trouble me no more." **And with that 'charming' remark, Khorne made the opening move, pushing one of his pawns (which looked like chaos tactical marines) forward.

As he did so, Soloman heard the clunks of metallic footsteps. Looking down, he saw that one of the chaos tactical squads was marching forward, bolters held up towards the green tide of orks. Now Soloman understood what Mortraz had meant by 'a god's version of chess': they were not just playing a game, but also controlling the actions and fate of thousands of lives below them, as well as the outcome of the battle.

However, this time Soloman was feeling calmer and more confident about his prospects of winning this challenge. During his childhood, his father, hoping to drum some etiquette into him, had made him do a variety of dull yet 'socially-advantageous and pleasing' activities. One such activity had been to learn to play chess, every Sunday afternoon having to play games with the old man. It had been a dull, never-ending gauntlet, and once he'd been accepted for basic training in the Imperial Guard, Soloman had shoved away the chess set and not touched it since.

He never thought he'd be grateful to the uncaring bastard, but yet now he was. True he hadn't practised for just over a year, but it would be a lot easier winning this than the previous challenge.

So, taking a calming breath, Soloman moved a pawn/ork mob, and the game began.

On the planet below, the orks moved to battle as well. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10 minutes past, 20 minutes passed, an hour, 2 hours......

Three hours after the game began, and still both battles raged, above and below. The game seemed absurdly long, but with Blood God and human trying to play with various strategies to beat the other, and both armies below constantly regrouping and returning to the fight, 3 hours was actually relatively short compared to some games of chess played by Gods.

(**Typicalteenager:** The record for the longest game was between the minor Chaos God of Intelligence and another minor God of Crusades from some long-forgotten religion. They began a game during the 38th Millennium with a twist: whenever a piece was destroyed, it returned to play in its starting position 5 turns later. The two gods have never been seen since: most reckon they are still playing to this very day.)

Both players only had three pieces left: their kings, queens, and a castle each (or rather, the castles being an ork nob squad and chaos raptor assault marines). As the next turn began, Khorne moved his queen and took out Soloman's castle. On the battlefield below, the chaos sorcerer simultaneously roasted the ork nob squad with a giant fireball.

His nostrils twitching at the stench of barbequed ork, Soloman tried hard to concentrate. He had two options here to play: either play safe and keep the king back whilst using the queen to win, or risk the king in offense and hope he outplayed Khorne.

It was then that Soloman once again realised how absurd a situation he was in. Here he was, thinking of how to outplay the Chaos Blood God in a game of chess that was directly linked to a battle below in order to win three challenges so as to avoid his soul being smashed apart, because the Blood God was angry with him because of what his fellow guardsmen had said. If anyone had told him that such a situation was possible, let alone that he would be in it, he'd have asked how long they'd been on the run from the mental asylum. He wasn't even that worried about the soul-smasher anymore.

He found himself deciding for the riskier move, and so attacked with king and queen together. Khorne retaliated with the same move. Each fought the other with the same move for a few more turns before they ended up taking out each others' kings.

Both simply stared at the board, then each other, then at Mortraz, who'd been dozing in his chair for the last half-hour. When rudely awoken by Khorne (by his usual method of yelling in their ear) he simply grunted with annoyance, and muttered something about a tie.

"**What do you mean a tie? How does that fit into the rules?"** bellowed Khorne, evidently pissed off at having spent the last 3 hours on this game and only managing a draw: if the other Gods found out he'd never live it down (particularly since he was immortal).

"Well darrrrling *Yawn* since you've neither won or lost, the little beef-cake don't count as winning, but you don't get to smash his soul either. So, the last challenge means everything" muttered Mortraz, unnaturally calm considering he was talking to the Blood God in a foul mood.

"**Well then let's get the third ****ing challenge over with already!"**

"Fine, fine" grumbled Mortraz, and with a lazy click of his fingers, the world dissolved into technicolour bubbles once more.

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**Typicalteenager:** And so ends Chapter 4. With summer holidays on their way, I should be able to do chapter 5 and then some soon.

P.S. Sorry for very little talk of the actual challenge: I don't know that much about how to play chess.

P.P.S. I have had typos pointed out to me. You should know that any typos in Mortraz's speech are intentional: Since there is no audio to give his camp voice, I've altered some words (mainly turning darling into darrrrling), so read them as they are (so read darling/darrrrling with emphasis on the r) to get across how he sounds when he's talking.


	5. The final challenge

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 5: The final challenge

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When the technicolour bubbles reformed yet again, Soloman was unsurprised to find himself back in the room they'd started in, but with the tent, toothpaste etc. removed. He was curious however as to why the polished skulls that made the floor were now multi-coloured, and why the giant lamp up on the ceiling seemed to have some sort of sphere blocking out most of its light, making the room barely lit. He glanced briefly at Khorne, not wanting to get his attention since he was probably still peeved at having lost one challenge and now getting a tie in the other. But while the Blood God was clearly enraged, he had mingled in his expression a hint of confusion, as if he too was unsure of the change in decor.

Mortraz was the only one apparently unfazed by this, as he happily strolled into the middle of the room, turned to face the two of them, and began his third speech: "And so we come to the final challenge. Given the events of the last two, this challenge means everything. You two have battled with brawn and with brains. Now you finally must fight each other in what I believe to be the greatest method of all........................

Through the medium..............

of............................................

DANCE!!!"

And as if on cue, the giant sphere began spinning and burst into light, revealing itself to be a disco ball, and music began blasting out of thin air all around them for a moment, before it faded away, and the disco ball went off again.

Soloman once again found himself both staring in disbelief and also trying not to laugh. The disbelief came from the fact that the third of the Blood God's challenges to save his soul was some sort of dance-off, and Mortraz seemed completely serious about it. The desire to laugh came from the fact that Khorne's face also showed complete disbelief, his mouth hanging open in shock, his face looking contorted in pain as its muscles yet again tried to make an expression they were not used to, though they were slowly getting there.

Then Soloman was forced to cover his ears as Khorne finally found his voice, and it roared like thunder: though he couldn't make it out properly Soloman could somehow tell that the Blood God was using every swear word he could think of. He glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting it to collapse under the Blood God's tirade.

While all this happened, Mortraz simply put his fingers in his ears and hummed a tune to himself, and then when Khorne had to finally stop for breath, removed his fingers and asked quite calmly "Finished Darrrrling?"

It was clear from the look on Khorne's face that he was not finished, and that the 'darrrrling' comment made him madder still, but he was to out of breath to do nothing more than wheeze and glare.

"Good" continued Mortraz, accepting the glare as an answer. "And besides, I was just following the rules: see for yourself" and he produced out of thin air a long piece of parchment, which landed at Khorne's feet. The Blood God picked it up, moved his eyes towards the bottom of the parchment, and his face seemed to turn a lilac colour, which Soloman could only assume was the daemonic equivalent of shock draining the colour from your face. Soloman was, however, slightly confused: it seemed that this dance-off really was the third challenge, yet Khorne appeared to have not known this. But wasn't he the one who had made these challenges in the first place?

As it happened, Khorne had written these challenges, but he was himself completely at a loss. What the hell had made him decide to make the third challenge a dance? He racked his brains, trying to remember when he had written these rules. Then he let out a groan as he vaguely recalled that memory: it had been the evening of his birthday, and one of the presents had been a very strong alcohol Tzeentch had made. He couldn't remember all the details, but he was sure that the night had involved human punting, indoor skull golf, and a female Slaanesh pole-dancing.

(**Typicalteenager:** The moral from today's story: Never try to do something important when it's your birthday, or you're drunk, or both.)

While this was all going on in Khorne's head, Mortraz and Soloman 'politely' waited. When the Blood God let out the groan, Mortraz took this as a sign that they were ready to continue, and so went into an explanation: "Now then, the challenge is quite simple. You choose a song, then you dance to it. See, simple. Oh, and you get bonus points if you sing along to the song." He looked at them both, checking they understood, but when he saw that 'the little beef-cake' looked confused and 'darrrrling' was still in shock, he continued "Just to make things clear, I shall demonstrate."

This instantly got Khorne's attention. The colour blotchily returned to his face, and he growled **"No way"**.

The other two just stared back at him silently, both noting that Khorne's tone, while steady, was lacking the confidence and strength of earlier.

It took Soloman a moment to realise a reason why. A dance-off put both him and Khorne on equal footing for this challenge, and if he won/Khorne lost, he would actually win this, and his soul would be saved. But Mortraz had mentioned something about another prize. Was that it? _But then what kind of prize would be so great- or indeed so evil- that the Blood God himself is nervous?_

When another minute of silence had past, Khorne repeated **"No way"**.

Another minute of silence, this time with Mortraz raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"**No. F***ing. Way"**.

Another moment of silence. Then Mortraz said, in the same calm tone "Well then, I'll just do a quick demonstration, okay?" and walked into the middle of the room.

Soloman's silent answer to that question was both yes and no. Yes, since he actually had a fair chance of winning this challenge. No, because Khorne was clearly not okay: he looked on the verge of having a seizure, one eye was twitching rapidly, and his hand was gripping his axe so tightly that the skin began to micro-tear and trickle blood.

Mortraz, who was either oblivious or deliberately ignoring this, clapped his hands. This made the disco ball light up and spin again, whilst a specific song began to play around him- Soloman couldn't remember what it was but he vaguely recognised it. Mortraz then began to dance, using a combination of tap-dancing and ballet to create a dance sequence that would leave the various dancing champions of the world(s) writhing with envy, all the while enjoying it.

Soloman however was too busy paying attention to Khorne, and slowly backing away from him. The trooper was showing that strange ability of a soldier to just know, without any real reason, when everything is going to go straight to hell. It was clear that the Blood God was currently on a hair-trigger fuse, and with his 'soldier senses tingling' he felt that Mortraz was going to be the spark that would set Khorne off.

He was absolutely right. As the song reached the chorus, Mortraz opened his mouth and began to sing along in his camp voice:

"Stop, In the name of love,

Before you break my heart-"

But that was as far as he got, for then Khorne exploded, with a scream of **"STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!!! HAMMER TIME!"** And before anyone could ask what that had to do with anything, it became apparent that he meant hammer time in a different way, for he raised his giant axe above his head, and it was clear to see that the axe had turned into a massive warhammer. Soloman's 'soldier senses' told him what was going to happen a split-second before it did, and whilst his body instinctively cringed and he just managed to close his eyes, his hands weren't quick enough to reach his ears, and so he clearly heard the sickening crunch of metal breaking bone, which was then followed by a roar, and a ringing crash like breaking glass.

Cautiously, knowing that the slightest thing could make him be next, Soloman opened his eyes, and made himself look at the room.

Khorne was standing in the centre of the now silent room, his eyes closed, face contorted with fading anger, panting as though he'd just run a marathon, with his hands hanging loosely at his sides, the hammer in one hand turning back into an axe. The place was now properly lit, for the disco ball was lying in pieces on the edge of the room, now resembling a pile of glittering metal.

But what caught Soloman's attention was the spot where Mortraz had been standing. He had been expecting to see a sack of broken bones, or a puddle of puree daemon. What he saw and had not expected to see was Mortraz, still in one piece, sunk up to his waist in the floor and looking very pissed off, trying to tug himself out.

It was then that Soloman heard it, very faintly all around him: a female voice, giggling with amusement and pleasure. He glanced around the room, but there was no-one to be seen.

For about 5 minutes, nobody spoke. Soloman was waiting until he was sure Khorne had calmed down, Khorne just stood there, eyes still closed and still panting, and Mortraz was busy wriggling and prising his way out of the hole.

The silence was broken when Mortraz finally got himself out of the hole, dusted himself off, winched as he rubbed his head, and finally muttered "Well, let us see what the rules say about this, shall we?" He clicked his fingers, and the parchment with the challenges/rules on it, which had been dropped by Khorne and had since been left forgotten on the floor, flew across the room into his hand.

The silence returned as Mortraz scanned the rules, all the time cringing slightly from what must have been the worst headache ever. Eventually, he sighed, looked at Khorne and said "Well darrrrling, it's been nice knowing you."

Soloman risked a glance at Khorne too, but remained looking when he saw that the Blood God was staring at Mortraz with a look of horror as if Mortraz had just pronounced his death sentence. **"D-D-DON'T YOU DARE MORTRAZ: DON'T YOU ****ING DARE!!!"** he screeched, and it clear to hear the stutter and the rising panic in his voice. **"IF YOU DO, I SWEAR I'LL-"**

But what he'd do he never got to say, for Mortraz gave a look of sympathy to him, clicked his fingers yet again, and Khorne, mighty Blood God of Chaos, simply disappeared in a puff of red smoke, as if he'd never been there. The only part of him that remained was his axe which, no longer being held up in a hand, fell to the floor with a clang.

Soloman found his jaw was hanging open from shock, and quickly closed it again. He turned to Mortraz, and asked the obvious question "What did you just do?"

Mortraz replied, whilst still looking at the spot where Khorne had been, "Well little beef-cake, the rules state that assaulting the judge leads to automatic disqualification. Since that was the last challenge, that means he's lost to you, so he's now dethroned and banished to the shifting wastelands, whilst you keep your soul and get his position."

"Oh, right" was all Soloman said, thinking this a fair explanation. Then the full meaning of Mortraz's words penetrated his skull. "Hang on: 'get his position'?"

"Oh yeah: you didn't know" Mortraz replied, more to himself than Soloman. "Well, I guess now's as good a time as any to tell you."

He at last turned to face Soloman, and the next five words he uttered were to change the 21 year old human's life forever.

"You're now the Blood God."

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**Typicalteenager:** DUN-DUN-DUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!

And so we (finally) come to the epic moment: Soloman is now a God. But how will he react to this? How will the other Gods react to this? And just what is going to happen with Khorne, now a home-less vagrant?

Chapter 6 will (hopefully) be out soon, and begin to find answers for you. Until then, enjoy the story so far.

P.S. Don't forget to review (or flame, depending on what you think of it).


	6. Home, sweet daemonically disturbing home

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

**3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.**

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 6: Home, sweet daemonically-disturbing home

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"You're now the Blood God."

Soloman's reaction to what he'd just been told was of something akin to being petrified. He just stood there, rooted to the spot, his body and mind gone numb, his eyes staring into space. It wasn't until Mortraz came over and gave him a push which saw him simply topple over like a bowling pin did the soldier react. Sitting upright on the floor, he looked at Mortraz and simply said, in a quiet voice "There must be some mistake."

Mortraz shook his head. "No beef-cake: the rules are quite clear. You are now the Chaos God of blood, destruction, and similar concepts."

"But... but I can't be the Blood God!" cried Soloman, proper speech and volume returning to him as the news sank in. "I am a servant of the God-Emperor: I can't be the leader of people who would see him cast down!"

"Beef-cake-"

"And what about Khorne's followers: how are they going to react to all this?!? Not to mention the other Gods!

"Beef-cake-"

"And then there's-"

"BEEF-CAKE, SHUT UP!" roared Mortraz. And instantly, silence fell. It took Soloman a moment to realise that his lips were still moving in protest, but no sound was coming out. It was as if he'd been struck dumb.

Now with no form of interruption, Mortraz explained the situation. "Look beef-cake, I'm sorry if this wasn't what you wanted, but that's what you got. Now listen well, because I've got to return to my own duties in a few minutes, so I'm only saying this once."

"You are now the Blood God. There are various tasks entailed to this, mainly wanting bloody wars, lots of sacrifices, and a decent amount of worship and entertainment. To help guide you through this, here is a reference book." He clicked his fingers, and at Soloman's feet appeared a mid-size yellow book entitled 'Being the Blood God for dummies'.

Mortraz continued: "There is no formal ceremony or anything. I'm afraid you're going to have to do meetings and introductions yourself.

Now only two more points remain: 1) Since your followers won't know of the change in leadership, you will now on bear the name Khorne. And 2) When the 'old Khorne' lost his job, all his servants were freed too: you'll have to employ a whole staff for yourself."

"Well now, I must be off to my own realm. Best of luck to you little beef-cake" and with a final click of his fingers with both hands, both he and Soloman were enveloped in a flash of purple light.

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When the light had faded away, Soloman found himself sitting on what felt like a toilet seat in a very small box room, completely unlit and very cold to the touch. Facing him, a few centimetres from his face and just visible, was a wooden door. Since there was nothing else here to do, he stood up, opened the door and stepped out.

He was greeted by a strange sight.

He had stepped out onto a rocky and foggy cliff-edge. Behind him was a dark dense forest and the box room, which appeared to be some sort of portakabin.

(**Typicalteenager:** Yes, the portakabin business was still running. Sadly its 'traditional' smell was also still about too.)

Above him was a clear sky, and just to his left was a small river, flowing from the forest and over the edge to make a waterfall.

Normal enough, except that the forest was made not of trees but bright blue crystals shaped like spikes, the portakabin was made from polished bones, the sky was a reddish-orange colour which kept changing in hues every few moments, the river was so befouled with pus and sewage and what appeared to be assorted limbs that even the most disgusting ork would have felt sick, and when Soloman looked over the edge there was no bottom to the cliff: it disappeared into the fog, which was a diseased yellow colour.

For some reason, although it was all alien and strange, Soloman found that he didn't feel any fear, only mild curiosity.

It was while he was looking over the cliff-edge that Soloman also realised that he himself had changed too. Physically, he was the same as ever, but all his clothing had changed. Everything he'd been wearing before, along with all his equipment was gone, and he was now wearing nothing except for what seemed to be a pair of denim shorts and a belt, and hanging from his belt were only two objects: on the left side was the axe of Khorne, shrunk to fit both the belt and his hand, while on the right was the dummies guide Mortraz had given him. The rest of his body -head, torso, arms and legs- were clear for all to see.

Momentarily wondering why he did not feel cold or uncomfortable in his new gear, and glad that at least the important part of his body wasn't exposed, Soloman decided that standing here wasn't going to solve anything. Unsure as to how to proceed, he concluded that now would be a good time to make use of Mortraz's gift. Taking the book from his belt and opening it, he found what he wanted on the first page after the contents. Written in the old 'elegant' style used by imperial nobles, the page was as follows:

_**The Undivided Edge**_

_**This cliff-edge is the first sight to greet newcomers to the realm of the Chaos Gods. Here, all four greater powers culminate to form a countryside typical of this floating world. From here, one may obtain their first glimpse of the Islands of the Gods, then head down to the Terror Run to enter this daemonic paradise.**_

_**Would make an excellent tourist spot, if it wasn't located in this land of damnation.**_

Deciding quite wisely not to dwell on that last comment, Soloman looked out over the cliff to spot these 'Islands'. As if on cue, the yellow fog faded away to show them to him. At first, he noticed that the orange sky was also around and below him, as if this land was in a giant orange-hued sphere. Then he saw the place he would now be calling home.

Some way in front and slightly below him, there were five islands, seeming to float in the sky. 1 island stood on its own while the other 4 surrounded it, moving steadily around it in a circle. Linking between them were giant stone bridges, so that the 4 outer islands form a diamond shape around the middle island, with each island having 3 bridges- 1 to the island either side of it, and 1 going in to the centre island, all of which rotated like a cog in a machine.

On each of these islands there a giant stone wall, within which, judging by the faint noises audible, were cities. However, each city looked different. The centre city was the only one that looked like an ordinary city, with a giant tower reaching up, as big as a hive-spire. The one furthest away from him seemed to have painted it stones pink, and he could just make out large draping banners that seemed to have been made from what looked horribly like human skin. The island-city closest to him also had a giant tower, and all its walls- tower and city- were made from the same blue crystals as the forest behind him. The island-city to the right looked like a normal city that had been made without any form of waste disposal system: its walls were green with algae and bacteria, covered in filth, and a large pipe sticking out of the side of the city seemed to be pouring away a waterfall of raw sewage similar to the river beside him. The final island-city had not a city but what looked like a castle atop it, with large craters and streaks of blood covering its walls as if it had recently been besieged, and all along its walls were black spikes, each holding a collection of heads from various races.

It was this castle that drew Soloman's attention the most. Logic dictated that each island-city was home to a different God: the pink one was Slaanesh's, the blue was Tzeentch's, the disgusting one was Nurgle's, the middle was probably for Chaos Undivided, so the castle.... that must have been Khorne's residence.

_Or rather_, his thoughts reminded him, _it's now your residence._

Soloman sighed. "So this is to be my home," he said to no-one in particular. "Man, what a disturbing place it looks." He wasn't scared by the place or anything: in fact, what scared him was that for some reason he felt almost bored. _What's the matter with me? I should be soiling my pants in terror or some similar reaction._

It was then that he noticed a reverberating, clanging noise of something metal being repeatedly pounded. It was coming from somewhere to the left of him, and it was getting steadily louder. He turned in that direction to try and spot the source.

The dense crystal forest, which he had assumed grew abundantly around his current location, actually stopped just short of the cliff-edge to the left of the clearing, leaving a narrow stretch of dusty path to that lead to somewhere. And on this path, just at the edge of his vision, was a large object- some sort of animal as far as he could tell- and it was heading directly towards him with an unnatural speed.

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**Typicalteenager:** And so with that cliff-hanger ends Chapter 6. Sorry there wasn't much more to it in the way of plot progression, but I needed to make sure I gave a good clear description of the 'Islands of the Gods' so that I can keep the story going at a good pace in later chapters. I also apologise for the lack of humour for the same reason: I will try to include a lot in the next chapter, when Soloman meets this strange animal.


	7. One God and his Juggernaut

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

**3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.**

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 7: One God and his Juggernaut

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As the strange clanging animal drew ever closer, Soloman began to feel a mixture of both fear and relief. The fear was of the animal, the relief was from the fact that he could still feel fear, showing that his becoming the Blood God hadn't altered him mentally.

The orange-hued turned to a near-yellow colour, and at last Soloman could see what it was. The animal charging towards him was.......... well an animal. But unlike any animal back home. This beast seemed to be made entirely of metal, and was built like a massive hound, with large forelegs and strong hind legs, its shoulders towering above its centred head. Its feet however ended not in paws but in hooves, and its head, whilst dog-like, had a massive curved horn rising up from above its nostrils.

Again, basic training, class 259, lesson 12- **Know Thy Enemy**- told him what he was looking at. This great metallic beast was a daemonic steed gifted to mighty blood-letters of Khorne. They were called Blood-crushers, whilst older, more ornate and more powerful versions of these steeds were called Juggernauts, gifted to the heralds of the Blood God.

Judging by its appearance, the beast charging at him was a Juggernaut, but it was different to the images he had seen back in training. Those Juggernauts had been dark red with lighter-red dabs and gold bordering, with the symbol of Khorne set in bronze on both hind legs, and had seemed to be about the same size as a horse. This one was completely black, with bordering made from what looked like bleached bones, had the symbol on it head just behind the horn rather than on its hind legs, and was more like the size of a Baneblade tank. Etched into both shoulders were the words **© Skull Throne Industries (S.K.I).**

(**Typicalteenager:** The more world-aware of you will note that the initials of this company spell out the name of a brand of yoghurt. This yoghurt was in fact also invented by the followers of Khorne as part of a plan to brainwash people into worship for the Blood God. However, the chemicals designed to do the brain-washing simply turned out to be a good health source for humans, leading to massive sales, but little brain-washing).

So busy was Soloman noting all this detail that too late did he realised how close the Juggernaut was getting and how quickly. He dropped the guide book and fumbled at his belt for the axe, but as his fingers closed around the hilt, the Juggernaut reached him and caught him under a front hoof, pinning him to the floor, yet somehow not breaking any bones despite the fact that it must weigh tonnes. Soloman closed his eyes as the beast tilted its head down at him, expecting to have his head chewed off at any moment, and led him to wonder _if I'm the Blood God now, does that make me invincible?_. Then he felt himself be spattered by something both hot and wet. Was this monster pouring boiling oil to cook him? No, it couldn't be, since it felt like he was covered in slime.

_Hot slime?_

Wiping said slime off his face, Soloman opened his eyes.

The beast that had him pinned down............. was licking him.

Raising an arm to stop it licking his face again, Soloman wheezed out from his crushed chest "Get off!" And amazingly, the beast stopped licking him, got off him, and sat dog-like on the ground in front of him.

Picking himself off the floor, Soloman stared at the Juggernaut, whilst wiping off the rest of the slime. Then, as he put the book and axe back on his belt, he noticed for the first time that around the beast's neck was a spiked collar made of bronze, hanging from which was a circle of bronze, onto which had been roughly etched were the words:

_**Tiddles**_

_**This Juggernaut is the pet of the Blood God.**_

_**He is particularly fond of human and daemon organs.**_

_**So should you wish to feed him, be my guest: it's your suicide, plus one more skull for my throne.**_

Soloman read the inscription 3 times, each time with more and more disbelief. _ Tiddles?!? Who names a Juggernaut Tiddles?!?_ Then he remembered that he was the Blood God, making this thing his pet. First made a God, now a pet Juggernaut. _Well I'll get full marks for originality._

It was then that he noticed that the Juggernaut had stooped down, as a horse does to let its rider mount. Did it want him to ride it somewhere? Cautiously, Soloman treaded over, reached up and pulled himself onto its shoulder, then slid sideways along so that he sat with his legs around its neck and his hands able to hold its collar. But as the new Blood God did so, he had felt something smooth and soft under his left hand, evidently tucked into the beast's collar. He caught hold of it, pulled his hand up, and found himself holding an envelope, which smelt like it had been sprayed heavily with perfume, and disturbingly had been made from human flesh. For some reason, despite his initial feeling of throwing up, the smell seemed to be compelling him to open it, and as he had no reason not to he did so, and unfolded a purple letter, also perfume-heavy, but made of some sort of silk. Written on the letter, in what appeared to be human blood, was the following:

_**To the reader of this letter (I know it'll reach the right person, since Tiddles only lets his master and myself ride him),**_

_**If my little observer is telling the truth, then there is a new Blood God for the first time in 38 millennia: you. Well I'm always happy to make new friends (particularly if they're handsome young men) and you'll no doubt need a run-down of what to expect of your new life and title. So why don't you come and join me for a spot of dinner: it'll be a feast of desire you'll never forget, I promise.**_

_**If you're interested (and you've no reason not to be), then get Tiddles to bring you to the Palace of Decadence in my city: he'll know the way. I'll be at home all day awaiting your arrival.**_

_**Hope to see you (and liking what I'll see) soon,**_

_**The beautiful Lady Slaanesh.**_

And at the bottom of the letter was a kiss where 'Lady Slaanesh' had pressed lip-sticked lips to her correspondence.

Yet again Soloman was left to wonder whether he'd simply gone insane. Because according to his brain, he had become the Blood God, owned a Juggernaut named Tiddles, had just been offered a dinner date with the God/Goddess of desire, pain and pleasure, and had said God/Goddess flirting with him. Today just wasn't his day.

Come to think of it, was it a day? He had gone to sleep in his tent when all this began, his watch had disappeared with the rest of his stuff, and he wouldn't be surprised if this place constantly had the sky like this. He'd have to get his staff to put clocks up in his new home. But then he didn't have a staff because they'd all been released when Khorne had been banished, so he'd need to hire some staff. But then he didn't know about this place, so how did he do that? Damn it, being the Blood God was hard and giving him a headache.

"Well," he muttered to no-one in particular, "Mortraz did say I have to organise introductions myself, and I've got nothing better to do." Taking a deep breath, he sighed, then leant forward and said "Um, Tiddles?"

Tiddles tilted his head to show that he had heard.

"Um, could you take me to...." he checked the letter, "....the Palace of Decadence, if you'd be so ki-aaarrrrrggghhhhh!!!!!

The 'ki-aaarrrrrggghhhhh!!!!!' was the word 'kind' suddenly turned to 'argh!' halfway through being said, because Tiddles, apparently having understood what he'd been told, had turned around and charged off down the path he'd come along, thundering along at the same unnaturally fast speed. Soloman, caught unawares, was tossed backwards along Tiddles and nearly got chucked off, only just grabbing the Juggernaut's short tail, which left him hanging on for dear life while his body dangled above the quickly passing floor, all the time being blasted by a light brown wind where the combo of Tiddles' speed and the dirt kicked up by his hooves threw a storm of dust into the dangling man.

It took ages for Soloman to claw his way back up Tiddles as the Juggernaut charged down a winding path. Soloman couldn't see this winding path, but knew it because every time Tiddles reached a curve he turned so sharply that his poor passenger came dangerously close to sliding off again. After a long time, Soloman had just pulled himself onto Tiddles' back when something caught his eye as they whizzed past it. Turning his head to look back, he just managed to glimpse what looked like a cave with a large billboard on top saying 'Terror Run' before it became too far away to see.

"Hey Tiddles," he cried, "That's the way to get to the Islands: you've charged past it." But Tiddles just kept on running. Soloman yelled until he was hoarse, but got no response. With a groan, he went back to pulling himself along the daemonic steed's back.

After some time, he managed to drag himself back onto Tiddles' neck, where his legs could wrap around it and his hands could grasp the collar. He pulled himself upright, intending to yell at Tiddles to stop again.

Only his words died away at the sight that greeted him.

They were running along another cliff-edge, this time only a narrow path, the space either side of Tiddles, who only just fitted on, falling sharply away to the yellow fog far below. Up ahead the path narrowed further until it ended as a large pointed edge set against the orange-hued sky.

What had made Soloman's protests die away was the sudden flood of horror hitting him with the realisation that Tiddles was still charging along with the intention of going over the edge.

Most people would have screamed with trouser-staining terror and/or screeched at Tiddles to stop, but the beast was going so fast that Soloman never had the chance. He barely had time to close his eyes as he felt the Juggernaut launch itself off the cliff. His body was drowned in a combination of adrenaline and fear as, though his eyes were tightly closed, he felt the wind blasting his face, felt Tiddles tilt forwards as he reached the peak of his jump, then felt his organs rise up towards his head as the two of them plummeted down, down, down.......................

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**Typicalteenager:** So Chapter 7 also ends with a cliff-hanger (or rather a cliff-dropper). Of course you know Soloman won't die now because that would be a crap ending to this tale, but you can still wonder what'll happen: well until the next chapter is posted anyway.

I would also like to thank and acknowledge my brother's involvement in the comedic side of things: he has helped provide a good number of the jokes, and let me know which of mine are decent enough to put in this story.


	8. Dinner with a daemonette

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

**3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.**

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 8: Dinner with a daemonette

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What happened in the next minute was not seen by Soloman, as his eyes were still closed in terror, but he felt it.

CRA-LANG!!!!

A loud bang, made from the clang of metal and the crash of stone in unison, painfully hit his ears. Then he felt himself lurch forward, and with a crack felt his face explode against a wall of pain. Next he felt Tiddles slip away from him, and found himself falling again. He tried to open his eyes, but the pain was blinding him. For a few seconds he fell, then CRASH! He smashed through what felt like a window, then with another clang hit a second wall of pain as he bounced ricocheted against something metal, and finally, with a thump, he landed on his back on something soft.

Now what had just occurred was as follows:

Tiddles, being the Blood God's personal Juggernaut, had some intelligence. He knew that the Islands rotated, and so had jumped off the cliff knowing that at that time of 'day' he'd land near the Palace of Decadence. His timing had been near-perfect, and he'd landed just inside the gates of the palace compound, his feet hitting the main stone path producing the cra-lang. Unfortunately, his timing had been one second out, so poor Soloman had lurched forward and smashed his face into Tiddles' neck, breaking his nose and feeling the pain. The mistiming also meant that while Tiddles had stopped, his master had not, so Soloman had been tossed up off Tiddles and into the air, catapulted in an arc across the Palace. The crash had been that his point of landing had taken him through a glass roof of one of the palace's towers, bouncing off a large metal chandelier to make the second clang, and then lastly landing on a sofa with a thump.

Of course Soloman didn't know any of this: all he knew was that 1) he was still alive, and 2) his head felt like it had been run over by a tank.

As he lay there, trying to get his addled brain functioning, he became aware of a familiar smell: the smell of the perfume the letter had been soaked in. He tried to sit up to look around, but his head was awash with pain, and he couldn't bring his eyes to open. He was about to call out to see if someone was nearby, hopefully willing to help him, when he heard two female voices, one after the other:

"30 minutes and 8 seconds: that's the fastest anyone ever responded to one of your letters, mi'lady. He must be very eager to see you in person."

"So it would seem my dear, but I feel his...... entrance, was a bit over-the-top."

Though his eyes were still welded shut, Soloman could still sense as someone walked up right next to him.

"Oh dear. His face is an awful mess mi'lady. Shall I tidy it up?"

"Please do."

And then a strange feeling came over Soloman: it felt like he was being dipped in a warm, refreshing bath. The feeling only lasted about 10 seconds, but as it died away, so too did the pain in his head and face.

"Well that solves that. Will there be anything else, mi'lady?"

"No thank you, I'll ring the bell if I need anything else."

"Very good, mi'lady." And with that the sound of a door opening and then closing marked the exit of one of the females.

His body now free of pain, Soloman sat up and opened his eyes. The first sight to greet them was glass shards scattered on a wooden floor before him. He looked up, and saw that, in classic cartoon style, there was now a Soloman shaped hole in a glass roof above him. Then he felt the wind on his neck, and turned around to see where it was coming from. Only he found himself goggling and gaping at the sight that greeted him.

A large set of bay windows were open before him, and they opened onto a large upper floor stone balcony. On this balcony was a small circular table and two dainty chairs, all made of bone. A parasol of human flesh covered the table to provide shade, and on the table itself was all of Soloman's favourite foods and drinks.

But it was the figure sitting on one of the chairs, sipping a cup of some hot drink and looking at him that resulted in the gaping and goggling, and Soloman was left in no doubt that this was his letter-sender and host.

Lady Slaanesh was, like the old Khorne had been, human looking, yet still obviously not human. In her case, the human side presented itself as the most beautiful woman you'd ever see. It was like one of those models from a lads' mag- beautifully sculpted features, petite yet mature and free of any sign of age, an hourglass figure, thin yet not skeletal, long hair that flowed like water down her neck and back, and a pair of rounded bosoms that were large, but not stupidly so. As if to cap it all off, she was only wearing a bra, knickers, heels, and a load of silver and gold jewellery over her wrists, ankles, and neck.

The daemonic side of her made sure she was still beautiful, but clearly not a human woman. Her hair was a deep purple colour, her skin an intermediate between dark lilac and violet, her eyes were of a blood red colour, her lips were black (although that might have been from lipstick), and the bra, knickers and heels were all made of a black metal.

Soloman found he was physically unable to stop gawping at her, and he kept feeling the urge to wolf-whistle. His feelings were apparently plastered on his face, for Slaanesh gave a small smile. Soloman could have happily stayed like this forever, but a small part of his brain broke his out of his reverie with alarm bells, as they reminded him that Slaanesh was able to shift between a male and female form.

He was trying to digest this information without feeling sick with himself, when Slaanesh said in a sensual voice: "Well sweetheart, don't stand around on my account. Take a seat."

It seemed that Slaanesh had some sort of power of command, for Soloman felt that warm bath feeling again, and found himself compelled to sit down as if it was the most important thing that has and ever will exist. For now he obeyed the compelling and sat down on the other chair, opposite Slaanesh. He forced himself to overcome his stupor and look at her out of choice, and in doing so found her to be leaning on the table, the small smile still on her face, staring at him intently.

Conscious of the silence between them, Soloman tried to find something to say, and when he couldn't think of anything good, settled with "Um.... thank you for inviting me to dinner, Lady Slaanesh."

"Oh I assure you sweetheart, the pleasure is all mine," she replied, without moving. "And there's no need for the Lady title: Just call me Slaanesh. That's what friends do, do they not?"

"Uh, yes.... yes they do," Soloman replied, wondering how they could be considered friends when they'd known each other for all of 30 seconds. Beginning to be unnerved by her constant stare and smile, he asked tentatively "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh no, nothing's wrong," Slaanesh answered, sitting back into her chair but with the smile growing bigger. "I just wasn't expecting Khorne's replacement to be so cute and handsome as one."

At this Soloman felt his face flush crimson, and he quickly stared down at his knees. Slaanesh giggled, evidently in full understanding of the effect she was having on him. As he waited for his cheeks to 'de-blush' he heard her chair squeak slightly as it was pushed back, and metallic clicking as she walked. He wanted to ask her where she was going, but couldn't bring himself to do so as he could still feel his cheeks' redness. He got an answer anyway, as he felt a shadow pass over him, and he made himself look up in time to see Slaanesh delicately seat herself cross-legged on his lap, leaning back so that her torso and head were pressed against his chest, her legs tucked up on his legs, head tilted up to look at him, and a playful smile on her face.

Not only did this make Soloman blush crimson again, but he could feel his libido sky-rocket with a scream out of the top of his head and into the stratosphere.

Thankfully, he was partially distracted from this by a metallic bark, and he looked over the edge of the balcony rail to see Tiddles, sitting like a guard-dog, looking up. At the sight of him, Slaanesh gave a little squeal of delight, leaned over the railing, and began making soppy noises and comments, such as "Who's a cute little Tiddles then!?!" in that baby voice a dog owner uses.

"I named him myself you know," she said to Soloman in-between all of this, which prompted some relief for him: he'd been slightly worried as to how a daemonic god of war and destruction could look at a creature of metal with a dog's body and a rhino's head and decide that Tiddles would be the perfect name.

After about 5 minutes of this, he noticed that Slaanesh had stopped talking, and glanced down his torso to see she had returned to staring at him with that playful smile. He could only sit there and hope he could keep his face (and cardinal sins) under control as she began "Now then sweetheart, you're probably wondering how life as a God is going to be......."

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**Typicalteenager:** And so we leave Soloman in this somewhat sexual predicament with Slaanesh until Chapter 8 comes along.

Also, sorry for the absence, I'm currently organising schoolwork with spare time. Once I've found a balance, I hope to publish a new chapter every week (but don't hold your breath yet).


	9. The rules of Godhood

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 9: The rules of Godhood

(Note: I did say don't hold your breath at my 'one chapter a week' goal. I'm still trying to balance my time, but I'm slowly getting there. But enough of that: on with the story!)

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As Soloman sat in the dainty bone chair, trying desperately to act as normal as he could, Slaanesh, still curled up on his lap, began to explain a couple of things to the new Blood God.

"Now sweetheart, you've probably had anti-daemon propaganda shoved down your throat for most of your short mortal life. Almost all of it is true, but as your guide to your new immortal life, allow me to clarify some points."

"Firstly, we daemons are not 'evil' evil: we are a necessary evil."

Soloman looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean? And what's the difference?"

"Well sweetheart, for something to be labelled as 'good', you need an opposite something to be 'evil', otherwise the good thing wouldn't be good but simply normal. That's what I mean: we daemons are 'evil' because else your God-Emperor and Imperium would be the normal and not good."

"I still don't see the difference" Soloman replied, his eyes cast up to the parasol of flesh giving them their shade.

Slaanesh followed his gaze. "Oh, this'll make a good example. If I was 'evil' evil, then I would have had the peoples' flesh you see up there skinned from them while they were alive. Instead, I waited until they were dead before I had them skinned."

"Um, okay" Soloman answered, still unconvinced as her decision sounded little better either way.

"And that brings us on to point two: you can die here, except about an hour later you wake up, fully formed, back in your bed. Oh, and sweetheart? Being immortal doesn't mean that dying won't hurt."

"Right," Soloman muttered, making a mental note to never annoy anyone ever again, which as an immortal literally meant forever.

"The third point is that we don't wage war on each other. Well, okay so we all get in arguments from time to time, but we don't start massacres over them. We deal with it just like you humans: shout at each other, and maybe throw a few punches."

"Uh-huh" was the reply, as Soloman was momentarily lost in thought at the idea of a punch-up between Gods.

Slaanesh simply smiled at him whilst he was in this thoughtful state. She wouldn't admit it yet, but she liked this young human: here he was, completely out of his depth, and yet he still held onto his manners. It made a nice change: the old Khorne, as muscular and well-toned as he'd been, had also been completely uncouth. Nurgle was jovial enough but too old and too disgusting to be anything other than a friend, and Tzeentch was simply stuck up with his massive ego and even bigger superiority complex. It was nice to have a polite person about the place, someone with whom she could have a normal conversation.

Soloman noticed her smiling at him. "W-w-what?" he stammered, feeling himself, if possible, blush even redder.

"Oh nothing: just glad to have a friendly person about to talk to" she replied.

"That must be rather difficult- talking with people I mean-, considering your......um......beauty" Soloman muttered, trying not to stare at her body.

"Why thank you sweetheart," said Slaanesh, her smile growing broader, and she quickly lifted up her head and gave Soloman a kiss on the cheek. "So, you think I'm beautiful, do you?" she whispered coyly in his ear, twisting her torso so that her bra and bosoms were clearly visible.

Soloman's response was to have all his blood rush up into his face, stuttering half-formed sentences like "Well, I…." "That is to say……." "Um…."

Slaanesh just continued smiling. "And my wardrobe too, sweetheart? It's my own designer line: Ann Summers."

(**Typicalteenager:** Yes, Ann Summers is owned by Slaanesh. I mean come on, who else but a daemonic Goddess would have the shop's window models wearing raunchy lingerie?)

Soloman, still stuttering, didn't answer.

Slaanesh's grin grew to its widest as she leaned in right up close to Soloman, and whispered in his ear again the one fact that she knew would get him. "And one final clarification sweetheart: I don't change between male and female form- that's a rumour I started to scare off stalkers. I'm 100% beautiful, sexy Goddess."

This was just too much for poor Soloman. He needed to get out of here right now, before he blew it and did something he would most definitely regret.

Trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, he began "Well now…… thank you for the pointers, Slaanesh. I'll………. I'll give you a call if I need any more aid…… um......." He tried to get up, but Slaanesh was still curled up on his lap and showed no sign of moving.

"Oh no no no sweetheart, I can't let you leave now. You haven't had anything to eat yet."

"Th-th-that's quite all right, I'll be fine. I'm not even that hungry." Soloman reassured her, even though that mischievous force known as irony chose that exact moment to make his stomach rumble.

"No no, I really must insist sweetheart. After all, what kind of hostess would I be if I let a guest leave feeling hungry?"

Slaanesh just simply grinned at Soloman, only now it was that evil kind of smile only women can produce: the one that is half the smile of someone amused and half the grin that a predator gives when it has spotted its next meal. She had him stuck here until she decided otherwise, and though neither voiced it, they both knew it, and knew that the other knew it.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Soloman sighed "Well, I suppose I could stay for a little while".

"Right answer sweetheart" was the reply, as Slaanesh reached out and took a bowl of soup from the table. "Now, let's see if we can get some extra meat on those impressive muscles."

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How Soloman survived the next half-hour he would never know. Indeed, in the distant future, when looking back on his life, he would rank it as one of his most horrible experiences. And that's up there with the discovery of a shocking fact about his father.

(**Typicalteenager:** Foreshadow alert! Foreshadow alert!)

The main reason for this was Slaanesh's behaviour during the whole incident. The meal saw Soloman 'enjoy' a full three course dinner, but Slaanesh insisted on spoon/fork-feeding him every bite, and after he had swallowed each she'd wipe his lips with a handkerchief. It was made worse by the fact that during the whole process her expression showed that she was clearly enjoying it, or maybe she was enjoying Soloman's obvious discomfort. The unnerved Blood God tried to calm himself by thinking of 'peaceful things', but every time he tried, his thoughts reminded him of the fact that he was having dinner with one of the four Chaos Ruinous Powers, and he had to quickly break his train of thought before it reminded him that he now was one of the Ruinous Powers, which would have been too much at once to handle.

Finally, after what had to Soloman felt like an eternity, Slaanesh lifted herself off his lap, and sat cross-legged on the edge of the table. "Well sweetheart, that was most pleasant. We must meet for dinner dates more often."

"Um, yeah....of course" muttered Soloman, gingerly standing up, as he forced his body to get up steadily and slowly when in reality it wanted to run out of the door and as far away from Slaanesh as possible. "Well then...... goodbye for now Slaanesh."

Slaanesh just leant forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye sweetheart."

Still making his body remain calm, Soloman walked back into the room which he'd crashed into and over to the door: a standard-sized one, ornate and made of stone. He placed his hand on the handle, grasped it, and was about to open it when he realised that he had no idea of how to take 'the normal way' out of the Palace of Decadence. He turned his head over to Slaanesh, still sitting on the edge of the table looking at him, with the intention of asking her how to do just that.

His mind processed the needed words. He began to open his mouth.

And then the door completely exploded inwards, and he felt something sticky and slick hit the back of his head before he was knocked off his feet in an avalanche of stone splinters, his nose and face smashed and ruined for a second time as he crash landed on the floor.

As he lay there, choking on stone dust and spitting blood, he felt someone place a hand on his back, then heard Slaanesh gasping "Sweetheart? Sweetheart, are you all right?"

Next a strong, unpleasant smell filled his nostrils, and finally he heard an unknown voice- a rich, deep, jovial voice, exclaim: "Aha! So the rumours are true after all: trying to get our foot in the new-blood's proverbial door, are we young lady?"

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**Typicalteenager:** And with that Chapter 9 draws to a close. I do seem to keep ending my chapters with cliff-hangers (although whether they are decent cliff-hangers or not is entirely opinion-based).

I warn you now: Chapter 10 won't be available for at least a week, probably longer. But I do have some time off shortly after that, so I should be able to make and upload it- and possibly Chapter 11- in that time off.


	10. Who's your granddaddy?

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

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Chapter 10: Who's your Granddaddy?!

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As the Blood God lay half-buried in stone splinters, spluttering on dust and his own blood from a second ruined face, he heard Slaanesh let out an angry exclamation.

"Old daemon!" She cried. "What is the meaning of this!"

The 'old daemon' let out a snort of amusement. "The meaning is quite simple young lady. I came to see if the rumours were true, and I can see that they are."

"Rumours? What rumours?"

"Well, there was a rumour flying about that Khorne had been dethroned, and that the new Khorne, a young human, was seen riding Tiddles towards the Palace of Decadence."

"And that somehow gives you permission to smash down my door!?!" snapped Slaanesh.

"I didn't smash down the door," replied the old daemon hotly. "I knocked on it as a sign of manners."

"Knocked on it! Nurgle-"

_Nurgle?_ Soloman disorientatedly thought. _Nurgle- oh yeah: the grandfather of pestilence and decay. But- hang on a minute, whose been rumour-spreading, and how did they know about me in the first place?_ Then his brain vaguely recalled the female giggling when Khorne had lost his temper in the third challenge. _Who had that been?_

He pulled himself out of his thoughts, and returned to listening to the argument, whilst trying to get out from under the stone splinters.

"-the whole door smashed apart and you hit my poor sweetheart in the head! How is that knocking?"

"Hey, it's not my fault the door was poorly made" retorted the voice that Soloman now knew was Nurgle's.

"It was made of stone, and daemonically enchanted! How much stronger can you get a door made!"

"Well-"

"Look," Soloman wheezed in interruption, "Whilst listening to you two argue is..... 'amusing', I'm still buried under the remains of the door, so could someone please help me?"

"Oh, right, sorry," answered Nurgle, and Soloman felt a large hand grasp his head and simply pull him out of the rubble. And as he hung there, the Blood God obtained his first glimpse of Grandfather Nurgle, Chaos God of pestilence and decay.

Now everyone has self-built ideas of what someone they have heard of but never seen should look like. For Nurgle, most people would imagine a larger version of a Great Unclean One: an obese lump of slime in a vaguely human form, pus, flies and maggots oozing out of every orifice. Having seen the old Khorne and Slaanesh, Soloman had a more 'human' image of expectation for the remaining two Gods. But where as Slaanesh and Khorne had fitted roughly into his expected images, Nurgle, whilst still human-looking, was not what Soloman had been thinking of. He was looking not at Nurgle the obese plague-carrier, but Nurgle the mighty body-builder.

On the basis of it, Nurgle was like the old Khorne: four times taller and three times wider than a normal human. Some understandable and expectable differences were that Nurgle didn't have fangs, and his skin was a strong light green rather than dark red. But there was no sign of disease or plague on him, save that the whites of his grey-pupil eyes were that stained yellow colour that teeth get after years of smoking: indeed, he looked the epitome of healthiness, and only the fore-mentioned grey-pupil eyes and that his short hair was also grey gave any indication that he was old, and the master of all illness. But what stood out were the massive muscles on him.

True, Khorne had been a muscular figure, but that had been subtle, well-toned, and completely natural: that was just how Khorne had happened to physically be. But Nurgle was built of titanic, vein-throbbing muscles, which were the sign of millennia of hard physical labour and training. This was made more visible since unlike Khorne, who like Soloman had only had some sort of shorts on, Nurgle had what appeared to be a suit on, only it was ripped and frayed where they struggled to account for his sheer bulk. There were no shoes or socks since they had probably torn beyond repair, the ripped trousers were only knee length shorts on his huge thighs, and the shirt and blazer had only frayed strands of cloth where the sleeves should have been on his bulging arms, whilst the buttons had clearly all popped off from the broadness of his torso. The only thing not torn was a belt for his trousers, made from the same metal as Slaanesh's clothing and the anvil from Khorne's first challenge, yet even that was showing signs of strain.

(**Typicalteenager:** Imagine the Incredible Hulk, but with his hair grey and a ruined suit on instead of purple shorts, and that's pretty much Nurgle.

Also, research is being undertaken into this strange black metal we keep hearing of again and again....)

The scariest part of all this for Soloman was that Nurgle was not holding him by the head with his hand, but with finger and thumb, and a horrible feeling ran through the Blood God at the thought that this behemoth needed only to twitch for Soloman's head to become bloody paste.

Thankfully he was simply put back down on the ground on his feet.

"Terrible sorry about that," Nurgle apologised. "Slaanesh simply refuses to have decent doors in this palace of hers."

Ignoring the Goddess' glower at this, he continued "Not that you need to worry about getting hurt: you're the Blood God after all, so you can handle anything, eh?" He chuckled, slapping Soloman on the back, which caused him to bend double and both his spine and knees to click very loudly.

"Uh, no, I don't," he answered meekly, "And if I can't, I guess I'll just call you."

Nurgle, being aware of his image, laughed jovially at this, which turned into a spluttering cough for a few seconds, before dying away. Soloman noticed Slaanesh give a look of alarm at the cough, but this also died away with said cough. Nurgle just muttered "sorry" and gave what he probably thought was a friendly smile, but being a daemon simply gave the impression that he was about to go for your throat.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly: Grandfather Nurgle, Chaos God of pestilence, decay, and all disease." He stuck out a hand.

Soloman went to shake his hand, cautious that Nurgle probably had an iron grip. He wasn't disappointed: the Blood God's hand came close to being crushed.

He had nearly forgotten Slaanesh when the Goddess decided to make her displeasure clear. "Excuse me Nurgle, but you seem to be forgetting that this is **my** palace. So how about you kindly shove off and leave me and sweetheart in peace? And you can repair the door whilst you're at it."

Nurgle looked annoyed at this, but only mildly since she was perfectly right to be displeased. Soloman on the other hand, felt some sort of opportunity arising, and realised that here was a chance of revenge for Slaanesh's dinner torture.

"But you can't get him to leave Slaanesh: he hasn't been offered refreshments or a meal. What sort of hostess would you be if you made him go now?" he informed her, attempting to subtly use the same expression she had given him earlier: he couldn't really since he was a man, but she'd probably still get the hint.

Slaanesh turned to Soloman and replied "Well if he was a gentleman he wouldn't have destroyed my bedroom door would he sweetheart?" but her face betrayed her confusion, as if asking him 'Whose side are you on?'

Nurgle gave another laugh turned cough at this, which if anything irritated Slaanesh further. "Don't you dare Nurgle, Don't You Dare!" she roared.

Now Nurgle looked irritated. "Hey, calm down, I won't be sick. I'm taking those damn tablets as part of the deal, so-"

"Deal? What deal?" Soloman interrupted.

"Oh, Slaanesh, the old Khorne and Tzeentch all banded together a few millennia ago and made me comply to some stupid rules, such as taking a bath once a year" Nurgle answered with a slight grimace.

"Look Nurgle," barked Slaanesh, "for the last time, we put the annual bath rule in because the rest of us want to be able to be in the same room as you without having to wear nose-plugs or taking decontamination showers!"

"Hey, I'm the God of pestilence: that's how I'm supposed to be. If my followers found that I have to bathe every-"

"Nuts to your followers! And anyway, you didn't complain about the experiment rule."

"That's because it's funny," retorted Nurgle, then explained to Soloman "Another rule was that if I want to test new diseases, I have to send them to the mortal realms. It's pretty amusing to watch them freak out at it all."

(**Typicalteenager:** There are many cases of this rule taking place. For example, Nurgle once made a variation of a common disease, reached through time and space to grab an animal to infect it with. The animal happened to be a bird from a planet called Earth during the last years of its 20th century, which was successfully infected and sent back to its time. The disease became known as Avian Influenza, also known by the common name of Bird Flu.)

"Why did they put in that rule?" Soloman asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Because before we did," butted in Slaanesh hotly, "he used us as his test subjects! He gave poor Khorne 'limb' rot and I had the Black Death for 3 millennia!"

"Hey, 1) I made you the cure for that, and 2) You only care about the 'limb' rot because it meant you and Khorne could no longer spend 'quality time' together!" roared Nurgle, clearly pushed to breaking point now.

Unfortunately, this simply got him an open-palmed slap and a screech of "HOW DARE YOU!!!" from Slaanesh, who had passed her breaking point, and apparently didn't give a damn about his size.

Guessing this was going to become a heated argument, and probably the kind where long-buried issues would be dug up and thrown about, Soloman decided that this brief meeting with Nurgle would have to suffice for now. Slowly backing his way towards the balcony, he checked for a soft landing, then climbed over, hung down, and dropped onto the branches of a tall tree. He quietly clambered down onto the ground, and went over to Tiddles, who still sat obediently like a guard-dog. _Time for a discreet exit_ he reasoned, as his fellow Gods' voices reached a crescendo above him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Typicalteenager:** Thus ends Chapter 10. Where Soloman goes from here is anyone's guess (except me since I make the plot).

And now curiosity begs that since we've met three of the four Gods, what about Tzeentch? What does he look like, and what is he up to? This may or may not be revealed in Chapter 11, but keep on reading, cause you'll find out soon enough (hopefully).


	11. Well, now what?

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 11: Well now what?

(Note: apologies for missing last week's deadline. I really have no excuse.

On a side note, I've given up on a second fanfiction I was doing. I clearly can't do serious writing, so I'll stick to what I seem to be good at- awful parodies.)

* * *

It was with much food for thought that Soloman mounted Tiddles and asked to be taken home. Home now being a blood-soaked siege castle covered in trophy head-spikes: _That's....... going to take some getting used to._

At least on this ride Tiddles couldn't jump of any cliff edges, and was actually going at a reasonable pace. Certainly Soloman wasn't left hanging on for dear life again. He wondered why Tiddles was going so steady, and amused himself for a moment with the thought that it might be because even daemons have speed limits in their cities.

Going through Slaanesh's city towards the centre tower on the central island, he passed bright, vibrant and colourful markets, the majority of which were selling and advertising every single vice, no matter how disgusting or horrendous, known to man, ork and dark eldar. And some not known of. But he wasn't paying attention to any of this because he was deep in thought.

Or at least he was thinking at any rate.

He was pondering everything that had happened in the last- well, he didn't know how long. There seemed no true sense of time here, and he had yet to obtain a watch, or more preferably retrieve his own watch.

Anyway, he was thinking mostly of the daemons he had met: the former Khorne, Alix- Khorne's servant, Slaanesh, Mortraz and all his fluorescent pink, Slaanesh, the massively-muscled Nurgle, Slaanesh...... Slaanesh......

What was with that woman-daemon-Goddess? The looks he could understand, but her personality he couldn't quite work out: the seductive crap he could deal with-it was part of her job- but other parts remain confusing. For instance, for someone supposedly worshiped for pleasures of all perversity and no morals, she had seemed...... relatively normal, at least compared to Khorne.

Also, Nurgle had said something about Slaanesh trying to get in Soloman's good books before everyone else, so why hadn't she? Despite the mentally-torturous meeting and meal she had done nothing to put herself in anymore favour than the others.

And more importantly, why the hell couldn't he stop thinking about her?

_Because that's the way Slaanesh works: she gets her claws in you and doesn't let go._

_That seems true enough,_ thought Soloman.

Then he realised he hadn't thought that: someone else had. Great, just great: were there mind-reading daemons to worry about as well?

_No- the only daemon who can read minds is Tzeentch, and he can only read emotions rather than actual thoughts._

Now there was definitely someone else's thoughts penetrating his mind.

_Um, hello_? Soloman thought.

But no-one replied: only silence returned to him. Whoever that had been, they either wanted to remain anonymous or had hidden away.

Soloman groaned. Was the entire universe out to get him? First he'd grown up with all that social crap with his father, he'd become the Blood God only –hours?- ago, he had been catapulted through a building by his new giant metal pet, been hit on by both a camp pink-loving daemon and a supermodel daemonic goddess, battered from an imploding door-knock by a massive daemonic god, and now he had to worry about some unknown mind-reader getting into his head. What other nightmares were yet to happen: assassination attempts on his life?

* * *

So it was with a general feeling of doom and gloom growing in his mind that Soloman arrived at his castle home.

Having seen it already at a distance, plus his depressed mindset, meant that he didn't even flinch at all the blood and heads. He simply rode Tiddles right up to the central keep- Khorne's actual house within the city- and dismounted.

He was temporarily aroused from his thoughts by remembering that Tiddles was his pet. He turned to the juggernaut.

"I suppose you go and hunt your own food, don't you?"

Tiddles gave what Soloman could only assume to be a juggernaut's equivalent to a nod.

"Well then, go get your dinner, and then go to bed, or have a run, or whatever it is you do."

Another juggernaut nod, and Tiddles turned around and bounded off back the way he had come, soon disappearing out of sight.

Soloman watched his pet charge off, then returned to his put-out state of mind as he pushed open the large double doors- made from that strange black metal again- and went into his daemonic home, the door clanging shut behind him.

(**Typicalteenager:** As of last chapter, I have researched this strange black metal that keeps appearing: a difficult task since I'm not a daemon, and have only radical inquisitor tomes to go by, which is a dangerous task in itself. It seems this metal is a substance called by the rather no-brainer name of Daemetal. It is apparently a natural liquid metal mined from the daemon realms, which can be treated with chaotic fires to become any desired object of any strength, toughness, and flexibility, hence its mass use as seen.)

Had he been listening when the door shut, he would have heard the giggling from earlier, back in Khorne's final challenge. But in his depressed state, he did not.

Sitting outside on a ledge directly over the door, a female daemon took out a strange looking device out of her trench-coat pocket. The fact that the trench-coat was too big for her and so completely covered her body, casting her face into shadow as well, meant that the only sign she was a daemon was the two purple horns curving up from roughly where her forehead should be, and the only sign that she was female was when she spoke into the device.

"Boss, it's me. The new Blood God just came home. I watched him ride up and go in."

The device was evidently some sort of daemonic walkie-talkie, and this was confirmed when a scrawny male voice emanated from it.

"Does he look like he'll be trouble?"

The female replied with a snort of amusement. "Yeah, in his dreams. The guy's just some nobody human: nothing special about him at all."

The voice responded "That may be how he appears, but he managed to beat Khorne, so he must have some skill. Now then, you know what to do?"

In the shadow of the hood, a fanged grin appeared. "Oh yes- I know exactly what to do."

Silence. Then- "Well?"

The smile faltered a little. "Well what?"

"What do you have to do?"

"Oh for chaos' sake.... I have to sneak into the castle keep, get close to him without him noticing me, and then slit his throat, and finally use that device you gave me" the female monotonously answered, clearly irritated.

"Correct my dear. In that case, I'll leave it all to you."

There was a static-sounding click, and the communicator was supposedly off, for the woman slipped it back into the pocket of her coat. She then stood up, and reached this time inside the coat.

She pulled out a daemetal dagger. Time to go to work.

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** Another (good/bad) cliff-hanger on which I end a chapter. And now we have two mystery characters: a disembodied voice, and a daemon assassin. One of these is long term, the other will be revealed soon. I leave you to guess which is which.

I've nothing else to say, except that I'll get Chapter 12 done and up by the end of next week.


	12. Assassination! Sort of

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 12: Assassination!......sort of

* * *

The big entrance door he'd walked through, Soloman decided, had to be some sort of portal to another, infinitely-sized realm. Because although the keep where he now lived was quite large, God Emperor there was no way you could fit this labyrinthine 'house' inside it.

The new Blood God's home, courtesy of the old Khorne, was much like the challenge rooms had been: windowless, with walls and ceiling made of bronze, a floor made out of polished skulls, and large ceiling-hanging lamps giving off a red glow. The corridors were massive, as if designed for tanks to drive through, and there were so many corridors, with so many off-shooting rooms, that it was a minor miracle that Soloman managed to navigate them at all, and even then it took him a while.

After what must have been a good few hours, he stumbled upon the legendary Skull Throne.

He could only assume it was the skull throne, because the room was the largest he had encountered so far- with what seemed to be normal lighting- and because the throne itself couldn't be seen. For the throne was atop a narrow set of steps, surrounded by a mountain of skulls, these ones completely red- knowing Khorne, blood had probably been used as the paint- that piled so high that the mere sense of vertigo from it would give an ordinary person a heart attack.

Since Soloman was no longer an ordinary person this didn't happen, and so he began to climb the steps.

After 10000 steps he began to feel weary.

After 20000 steps he wanted to stop, but the steps were too narrow to do anything but stand on- trying to rest on them would just result in him falling down. So he had to keep going.

He reached 58241 steps before losing count and now bent double.

When he finally reached the throne he was on his hands and knees crawling up.

The throne itself looked like any other throne, with this one being made out of bronze. It was also, as Soloman discovered as he sat in it, the perfect fit for him to be comfortable- probably another effect of his replacement of Khorne. He also found to his surprise a cushion right next to the throne, with his old imperial time-piece on it. The fact that the cushion was fluorescent pink told him that Mortraz had sent it.

He looked at what time the analogue face said, and at the digital rectangle running along the bottom of the watch face.

He'd been in this new life for less than 24 hours.

_God Emperor- if all this crap has only taken a day how bad is eternity going to be?_

_Well at least it'll be eventful._

He slipped the watch onto his wrist, but took it off after 5 minutes and shoved it into his pocket. The digital face was keeping time perfectly, but the analogue face kept whirling about at various speeds. It even stopped at one point and went backwards 20 seconds before going forwards again.

After spending the next hour just sitting there, the pink cushion on his lap, wondering how to thank Mortraz for returning his watch, and how to send stuff about the daemon realms anyway- was there a daemonic postal service?- Soloman began to feel hungry. Then he remembered that he had no staff, so if he wanted food he had to get it himself. With an irritated sigh, he got up, dumped the cushion on the throne, and began to climb back down the steps.

This time he didn't bother counting. It would just add one more thing for him to get worked up about. Maybe when he hired staff, he could get some sort of lift, or teleporter: anything to make these steps ob-

What happened next caught Soloman completely by surprise. There was a whirling noise, an explosion of pain in his chest, and then he felt himself topple off the steps and spin through the air at a rocketing speed until he hit the floor on his back with a sickening crunch of bone-breaking proportions.

He lay there for about a minute, dazed. Then he leaned up on his elbows, and saw that the pain in his chest- well now he had pain everywhere but it was worst in his chest- was due to the daemetal dagger buried to the hilt in it.

He stared at it. He got up on his feet, and yanked it out, dropping it on the floor. It stung like hell, and a trickle of blood came out. A shadow suddenly appeared on the edge of his vision, and he turned to see the person.

It was clearly a daemon, for two purple horns curved up from roughly where its forehead was, but the daemon was enveloped in an old trench-coat far too big for it, complete with hood, making the horns the only visible part of it. It just stood there, looking at him.

Perhaps it was because he was slowly tuning into the Blood God mentality, or perhaps this was just the triggering event after all the other crap he'd been through today, but Soloman's patience just snapped.

"YOU F****ING B*TCH!!! WHAT THE F*** DID YOU DO THAT FOR!!!! CAN'T YOU F***ING SEE THAT I'M ALREADY BL**DY STUCK IN THIS S**THOLE OF A LIFE, SO I DON'T F***ING NEED SOME RANDOM BL**DY DAEMON TRYING TO F***ING KILL ME ANYMORE THAN I NEED THIS F***ING HOLE I'VE NOW GOT IN MY CHEST!"

The daemon did not react at first. Had Soloman been able its face, it would have been one of shock: since he still looked human the assassin had not expected Soloman to have obtained the near-invulnerability gift the other gods possess.

Realising it was going to have to do the job properly, it pulled out another daemetal dagger and threw it at him with an unnatural speed even for a daemon.

Soloman, still pissed off, somehow saw the dagger flying towards him, but thanks to his new daemonic abilities as the Blood God was able to pull off a matrix-style twist so that the dagger whirled past him, seemingly doing nothing.

It was as he got upright again that he felt the stinging, and a quick touch on the side of his head revealed that, in addition to his chest wound, he now had an ear dismembered.

This made him even angrier "SO THAT'S THE WAY YOU WANT TO F***ING PLAY IT, HEY?!?!?!" he screamed, and in a move similar to his opponent, tugged the axe out from his belt, and flung it.

The daemon, silent as ever, dived backwards so the axe embedded itself in the floor, a massive crack appearing where it struck, and then ran out of the room.

"OH NO YOU BL**DY DON'T!" roared Soloman, and he set off in pursuit out of the room, yanking the axe out of the ground as he pasted it.

Halfway down the corridor from the throne room, the assassin spun around and tossed some sort of blue fire at him from its hand. Soloman, now half seeing red- one eye had blood running into it from where his ear had been- didn't even try to avoid it. It smacked him full in the torso, but it was like a flea bite: it irritated, but did absolutely nothing to slow him down.

The assassin returned to running and this time didn't stop: if this human had all the powers Khorne had possessed then the last thing it wanted was for him to capture it.

However, it was fighting a losing battle. It seemed that, as Blood God, Soloman's own anger was increasing his power, and so he was steadily shortening the gap. As if in further confirmation, he kept throwing the axe after the assassin too, plucking it off the ground when he reached it, and although he'd so far missed, he was getting more and more accurate, with one throw only missing the daemon's head because it dived around a corner.

It was when the two of them reached the entrance hall that, after who knows how long running through the various corridors, that the chase came to a close.

Soloman threw the axe, but it missed again, and now the assassin was practically at the doors, which it had tactically left ajar. Desperate, and now even angrier at all the misses, somewhere at the back of Soloman's mind he was reminded of the Being the Blood God for dummies book which Mortraz had given him, still hanging from his belt. He yanked it out and flung it at the daemon.

This shot, at last, made contact. It smacked the assassin right in the back of one knee, making it stumble. This alone would have simply slowed it down for a few seconds, but its proximity to the entrance meant that when it stumbled, it went face first into the door at full speed. With a sickening crunch similar to Soloman's landing earlier, the daemon simply bounced off the door and toppled backwards onto the floor, knocked completely unconscious.

Managing to make himself stop, Soloman felt his anger slowly decreasing now he had caught his opponent. With this decrease in anger, the pain and exhaustion also began to steadily return. Beginning to breathe deep for air now, he turned around and walked back a few paces to retrieve the axe.

As his hand grasped the handle, he felt a hand grab onto his shoulder.

All his anger rocketed back in a second as he thought the assassin had got up again and was making an opportunity attack. "OH NO YOU DON'T!" he howled, and jerked back his elbow, hitting a ridged lump that he assumed to be the daemon's nose, making it squeal in pain and fall flat on its back. Soloman, in one movement, tugged the axe out of the floor and, twisting his wrist, swung it over his head one-handed in an arc down towards the daemon.

He stopped himself a mere millimetre from cleaving his opponent's head in two.

Because the daemon lying on the floor squealing with both pain and shock in front of him was not what he'd expected: it wasn't the assassin.

"Slaanesh?" he cried, completely confused. "What on Terra are you doing here?"

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** Why is it that my chapters always end up being cliff-hangers? Oh well.

Next week, Chapter 13, and the assassin's identity revealed.


	13. Two daemonettes, one Blood God

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 13: Two daemonettes, one Blood God

* * *

It took about a minute for Slaanesh to stop squealing from the shock, and to get her breath back. When she finally did, she muttered, clutching at her nose "Well sweetheart, I'm glad to see you're beginning to fit into your role." Her face clearly showed that she was still in shock.

Soloman was still surprised himself. Then he realised he was still standing with his axe a millimetre from her face. Tossing it aside, he reached down, wrapped his arms around Slaanesh's waist, and picked her up onto her feet, all the time wittering "I'm am so sorry, so sorry, very, very, very, sorry...." Eventually, when he put her on her feet, he asked "Can I do anything about your nose?"

"Well, if you want to help heal it...." she replied, an unusual look on what part of her face she didn't have covered by one hand, "You can give me a kiss."

"What!?!? Seriously?"

"Seriously. And not a pathetic one on the cheek sweetheart: a proper one on the lips."

Her face had become set in a serious expression, so with a groan Soloman leaned forwards and gave her a kiss.

Since he hadn't kissed her on her lips or received a kiss from her on his lips, he was unprepared for what happened next. It felt as if all his aches and pains, anger, worries: all of it simply melted away, to be replaced by a massive wave of pleasure. At the same time, his head was filled with dozens of visions- all of them involving him and Slaanesh together for all eternity, happy, at peace, without a care in the world. He could easily stay here forever.......

_Except...._

_If I'm a Chaos God, and I have a number of powers shared by all Chaos Gods, shouldn't Slaanesh be able to heal her nose?_

Soloman forced himself to pull away his lips from Slaanesh's, who was now clearly with a fully formed undamaged nose and a smug look on her face, confirming what Soloman had just come to suspect.

"You totally made up that request just so that you could get a kiss off me didn't you?"

The smug look further increased. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

Soloman rolled his eyes, exasperated.

It was at this point that a weak moan from by the doors reminded them of the currently unconscious assassin. The two of them went over to where the daemon lay, knelt down beside it, and removed the coat.

The daemon was in fact a daemonette. Her physique was very similar to Slaanesh's: beautifully sculpted features, an hourglass figure, long hair that flowed like water down her neck and back, and a pair of rounded bosoms- along with the two purple horns curving out from her forehead that had always been visible. Her clothing, now that the trench-coat had been removed, was a white polo shirt, a blue mini-skirt so short you could make out the very edge of her black knickers, and red high heels. Her hair, lips and skin were all purple in colour, her eyes were jade green, and her face, while smooth and healthy, naturally looked older, matured, yet still beautiful.

Slaanesh gave a gasp of shock. "By Nurgle's bile! It's Zeena!"

This of course meant nothing to Soloman. "Who?"

"Zeena: Tzeentch's wife!"

"Oh" was Soloman's response, unsure what else to say. Then a thought occurred to him. "Um, Slaanesh-"

"Zeena.... why is she here?"

"Slaanesh-"

"What would bring Zeena out of her husband's city?"

"Hey Slaanesh, can we focus here: this woman, or daemonette, or whatever, tried to kill me about 5 minutes before you showed up out of nowhere."

Slaanesh was clearly astonished "What? Why would Zeena want to kill you?"

"How should I know: that's the question I was about to ask you."

Before either of them could give an answer, another moan and now some movement showed that Zeena was regaining consciousness. The Blood God and Goddess of Pleasure watched cautiously, ready to make their move if Zeena decided to have another go at killing Soloman.

Sitting up, Zeena rubbed her head, and glanced about. "What's going on? Where am I?" Then she spotted Slaanesh. "Slaanesh? What's happening?"

Slaanesh looked slightly confused. "Don't you remember?"

Zeena closed her eyes, then after a moment, answered "The last thing I remember.... was heading out of the palace: I.... I think my husband sent me to..... to kill someone."

"Well, yeah, you did... sort of," Slaanesh responded looking slightly tentative, as if expecting Zeena to renew that assassination at any moment. "You tried to kill Soloman here, only since he's a Chaos God he has the near-invulnerability we all possess, despite his human origins."

At this, Zeena turned at looked at Soloman for the first time. She looked him up, then down, then back up, then down again for a few seconds, and he face slowly turned into a smile that instantly set off alarm bells in Soloman's head.

"Oh, contraire Slaanesh: I could never kill this young man," Zeena said, her smile growing broader, and placing one hand on Soloman's chest as if to check that the muscles were real. "He's too handsome."

Soloman's response to this was to moan with despair "Oh God-Emperor, not another flirter." _First Slaanesh, now Tzeentch's wife._ He clutched his temples and let out a sigh.

Slaanesh's response was rather different. "Handsome, Zeena?" she asked gingerly. "Well, I suppose you could call him that...."

"What do you mean 'could'?" said Zeena, her voice low and sensuous, now running her hand over his arm. "He's a gorgeous hunk".

At this, Slaanesh reached out and pulled Zeena's hand away. "Well, that's enough of that Zeena" she said rather curtly.

Zeena glanced at Slaanesh in confusion for a moment, and then an amused look spread across her face as she put two and two together. "Whatever is the matter Slaanesh? Worried I might get this young stallion of a man while you don't?"

Slaanesh snorted, and rose back to her full height. "Zeena, please: I'm younger, healthier, and not married. I think I'll win over you every time."

Zeena's face rapidly went from amused to thunderous. She clambered to her feet as well. "Young lady, you might be younger and healthier, but I'm still young and healthy myself. Anyway, he might want someone more.... experienced."

Slaanesh barked a laugh. "More experienced? Zeena, you're the wife of Tzeentch: what experience?"

But this was evidently a step too far, for Zeena's face went red, and screeched "HOW DARE YOU!!!" as she slapped Slaanesh very hard, not unlike how Slaanesh herself had slapped Nurgle for a similar insult earlier.

Soloman stood up at this point too. "Um, ladies, may I-"

But Slaanesh interrupted by returning the slap to Zeena. "DON'T YOU DARE RAISE YOUR HAND TO ME, YOU OLD CRONE!!!"

Zeena's response was to deliver a smack across the back of Slaanesh's head, howling "OH, INSULTS: THAT'S REALLY MATURE, YOU PATHETIC LITTLE GIRL!!! YOU THINK YOU CAN HURT ME!!! YOU JUST DON'T WANT TO ADMIT THAT MEN LIKE ME MORE THAN YOU!!!"

"OH, SO NOW IT'S ONTO MEN, IS IT GRANDMA!!!"

Soloman was groaning with despair. He was beginning to firmly believe that there was a Chaos God of torment and mischief hidden somewhere, deliberately screwing with him to make his new immortal life as horrible as possible. In addition to all the crap earlier today, he now had a second daemonette flirting with him, and now both of those daemonettes were about to start ripping each other apart. After all, the saying 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' existed for a reason.

"Ladies..... Ladies....." he cried desperately to no avail. "Ladies please, there's no need-"

But they were clearly not paying attention: they'd forgotten he was there.

Now getting desperately, Soloman began to call out into thin air "Help! Someone help me! I'd really appreciate it right about now!"

And as if in response, there was a flash of purple light, and the room was suddenly drowned in the scent of Lily of the Valley perfume, as a human-looking daemon appeared on the spot.

"Hello? Who keeps shouting? I'm trying to get my beauty slee- oh it's you beef-cake."

Never before had Soloman been happy to see a man covered in fluorescent pink.

"Mortraz! God-Emperor be praised! I could almost hug you right now- except that I won't, but you know what I'm trying to say- but anyway, I need you to help me right now, before this fight starts!"

"What fight?" queried the daemon, and then he spotted Zeena and Slaanesh still on the verge of battle, both apparently oblivious to Mortraz's arrival.

Mortraz burst out into a soft, rolling laugh.

"Mortraz? Mortraz! Laughing isn't going to help-" Soloman began, but was interrupted by being enveloped in a puff of smoke, and found himself seated in a plush armchair with a pot of popcorn in his lap, with Mortraz in a second armchair, also with popcorn, a dirty great grin plastered over his face.

"Mortraz, what on Terra are you doing?"

Mortraz turned his head to Soloman, his mouth full of popcorn. "Beef-cake, I'm going to sit back and watch, and I recommend you do the same. You're about to witness something most daemons consider the greatest thing that could possibly happen to a daemon........."

"...........Two beautiful daemonettes fighting over you."

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** Oh snap! Potential chick-fight alert: The young and healthy Slaanesh vs. The mature and experienced Zeena! Place your bets people!

Anyway, that's all for now: see you all for Chapter 14!


	14. The evil plot

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 14: The evil plot

* * *

Far away from the upcoming chick-fight, on the opposite side of the interconnected islands, the city with all its walls made from blue crystals stood tall against the orange sky. Like all the other cities, a constant muttering was audible as its daemonic citizens went about their business, much like any other race's habitats.

Only one place in this city was silent, and that was the tall tower that dominated the skyline. Citizens still walked past here, but kept quiet as they passed by, for the tower gave a sense of foreboding and ancient darkness that rattled even daemons. It was the home of the Sorcerer, and nobody wanted to incur the wrath of the Sorcerer, especially now, when he was planning.

That was the latest feeling circulating the city, which was never spoken of yet sensed by all: their master had set a dark plan into motion, one involving ancient and powerful magic only he could master. The mere thought of such magic created an air of tension within the city walls.

At the highest floor of the tower, in a large circular room completely windowless and kept pitch black, the Sorcerer grinned as much as his beak allowed him to. He could sense the tense nature of his people, and it amused him so, that he was one of only a few daemons who could kindle unease and doubt in his otherwise fearless species. It also interested him how they had successfully worked out part of his plan, and whether his agents had developed loose tongues whilst not under his observation. No matter: if he did find that an agent had been loose-tongued, he'd rip it out with one talon and feed it to him for his dinner. And anyway, his people refused to speak of it to each other, let alone the other daemon sub-species, so there was no danger of his plan being revealed.

Ah yes- his plan. The resurrection of the Age of Sorcery.

That had been his finest time: a time when he, Tzeentch, had been the greatest of the 4 Chaos Gods. A time when he had commanded such magic that crushing an entire galaxy could have been done on a whim, and all life-forms had trembled before the great being that they called the Sorcerer.

A time he planned to bring back from the past.

An almost inaudible creaking informed him of entry into his laboratory. Unless some fool had a death wish, it could only be one daemon. The few seconds of light coming through the open door revealed a figure in long blue robes and hood, only the faint outline of her pox-ridden face visible.

"Ah my apprentice," Tzeentch cawed, his voice low and quiet but with a hint of rumbling thunder, "What news do you bring me?"

The apprentice knelt on one knee, her head bowed, eyes directed at the floor. "My Lord Sorcerer," she croaked, her voice gargling slightly from her fluid filled lungs, "The latest tests are complete. We are nearing perfection with the potion, and are now working on giving it chameleon properties to blend in with other fluids."

"Good. But you say near perfection: I take it then that our test subject remembered?"

"Yes Lord Sorcerer, but your wife only remembered the pseudo-task you set her, which she incidentally failed in. She remembers none of the secrets she discovered. The fact that you ordered the attack is known, but all else appears lost to her."

"I see. Well, that will be all, but I recommend that she is still observed: we don't want her regaining her memory."

"As you command Lord Sorcerer" intoned the hooded daemonette, as she backed out of the room.

She was just closing the door when Tzeentch asked "Who did she tell?"

A moment's pause, then "Lady Slaanesh, and the human, Lord Sorcerer," answered the daemonette, and when Tzeentch didn't respond, she quietly closed the door and set to work.

Once she had gone, Tzeentch pondered over this latest news.

His wife: Zeena. It was a shame that he'd had to test the potion on her, but then she shouldn't have been snooping about his lab in the first place, so she had only herself to blame. At least the potion hadn't killed her, like the other test subjects before her.

The potion: the vital component to his plan. If his apprentice succeeded in this task, he would in one stroke have the key to his success and at last have found a worthy heir to his upcoming empire.

His apprentice: a young daemonette of the plague-bearer sub-species with a natural affinity for magic and fate-weaving that made her potentially his greatest protégé, and a perfect spy within the Grandfather's Abode, for she had learnt her master's art for subtle unobserved influence well indeed, and that old fool Nurgle would never suspect her anyway.

The pseudo-task had failed. That had been a bit of a risk, but Tzeentch liked the idea of risk, chance, and luck. He had what humans would refer to as something of a gambling addiction: taking great risks of 'everything or nothing'. He wasn't worried that it had failed: the human and Slaanesh now knew he was behind it, but they were unlikely to cause any disruption, and he already had a plan to explain the pseudo-task anyway.

His thoughts dwelled on Slaanesh and her beauty for a moment, and then a dark humour filled his daemonic equivalent of a heart. When he ruled over all once more, he would keep her as a pet and slave, clasped in chains and crawling on all fours like an animal. It would be a sweet revenge for her mocking of him all those years ago when he'd been young(er) and single, and most fitting that she who treated males like dogs on a leash would end up like that herself.

Finally, his thoughts turned to the human, the one who was now the Blood God.

Of all the other Chaos Gods, Khorne, as far as Tzeentch was concerned, had been the most likely to destroy the plan, with his simple war-minded idiocy. And now, without any involvement by Tzeentch at all, he was gone, and had been replaced by a mere human.

But Tzeentch would still keep an eye on him: he hadn't gotten this far into his plan by being arrogant and over-confident. As well as having sent his apprentice to spy on the human, he'd placed an observation spell on Zeena so that he could see everything that she would see. So he had witnessed the whole assassination attempt right up to when the spell was broken due to Zeena losing consciousness by crashing into the door. He knew that the human had obtained at least a portion of Khorne's powers, making him a possible danger. The best thing to do was to keep him in the dark, Slaanesh and Nurgle too, until it was too late for them to stop him.

Too late for them to stop the return of the domination of Tzeentch, greatest of the Chaos four, and his golden Age of Sorcery.

And with that thought dominating his mind, Tzeentch delved into dreams of grandeur and glory, the pitch blackness of the room hiding his cruel twisted smile.

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** And so, with this exclusive insight for you readers into part of Tzeentch's evil schemes, one must ask: what is the deadly potion being concocted? Who is the daemonette spy and apprentice? And most importantly, who will win the chick fight between Slaanesh and Zeena?

Some of these questions may be answered in the upcoming Chapter 15!


	15. Back at Blood God HQ

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 15: Back at Blood God HQ...

* * *

Now, as any sensible person/daemon knows, and as Soloman's book 'Being the Blood God for dummies' will tell you should you ever get the chance to read it, you do not-repeat, DO NOT- try and intervene in a chick fight: especially between two powerful daemonettes. Unless of course you are a miracle worker.

And whilst becoming Blood God had given Soloman many powers he would eventually discover, a miracle worker was probably not one of them.

This is why Mortraz gave a groan when Soloman leapt out of his plush armchair to stop the two daemonettes. Although the groan might have been at the waste of the popcorn which was knocked to the floor when Soloman leapt up.

"No, no: stop, stop!" he cried, putting himself between them. "No-one's fighting anyone!"

"You're right there handsome" answered Zeena.

Hope of success leapt to Soloman's mind. "I am?"

"Of course: a fight implies Slaanesh has a chance to hit back, and that is not going to happen here."

The flicker of hope was crushed instantly, and Soloman had to clasp Slaanesh's arms with a grip of iron to stop her clawing at Zeena.

"Look, ladies-"

This obtained grins from both daemonettes, then scowls as they saw the grin on the other's face.

"Whilst I.... uh..... appreciate..... that you both consider me worth fighting over, I'm really not, so how about you two both-" but Soloman didn't get any further as both daemonettes interrupted by listing off all of Soloman's good qualities that made him worth fighting over.

While the two stopped and glared at each other again, Soloman was left for a brief moment with the curiosity as to how Zeena can list off good qualities about him when she'd only known him for about 5 minutes at the most, or how Slaanesh could when she only met him once at their dinner/mental torture together a couple of hours ago.

He shook himself out of this as he noted that Zeena and Slaanesh were death-gazing at each other again. _There must be something I can do!_ He thought to himself. _Think, God-Emperor, think! _He was starting to get angry about his lack of ideas on how-

_Angry?_

_That's it!_ He had been able to perform that high speed run after the assassin/Zeena, not to mention the accurate throw with the Dummies book, when he'd become enraged. If he could get angry now, he might be able to stop these two. _Now how to do it...._

He started by concentrating on all the crap he'd been through so far: but whilst he became irritated, he couldn't get himself to become properly angry.

He thought of how Slaanesh had put him through that torture she'd called a feast: good, but not enough.

He thought about, and concentrated on, the throbbing pain from the dagger wound in his chest, and from the still bleeding gap where his ear had been, both of which had been due to Zeena: getting there, but still needing more.

The last push came as the daemonettes began yelling abuse at each other, which started to grate in Soloman's mind.

"THAT'S IT SLAANESH!!! I'M GOING TO DO WHAT YOUR PARENTS SHOULD HAVE DONE YEARS AGO AND GIVE YOU A GOOD SMACKING!"

"YOU WISH GRANDMA!!! I'M SENDING YOU BACK TO YOUR RETIREMENT HOME, AND THIS TIME YOU'LL-"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT, THE, F***, UP!!!!" Soloman howled like a maniac, and without any thought, acting merely on his aggression, he grabbed both of them by their heads and tossed them at the plush armchairs, resulting in Zeena landing upside-down in the vacant armchair, and Slaanesh sprawled across the lap of Mortraz, who was now also annoyed since Slaanesh's landing had knocked his popcorn all over the floor.

"NOW BOTH OF YOU B*TCHES LISTEN, AND LISTEN GOOD 'CAUSE I'M GOING TO SAY THIS ONLY ONCE!"

"Now, hang on a minute-" Slaanesh began to protest, but Soloman pointed an accusing finger at her and roared "YOU DON'T SPEAK UNLESS I F***ING TELL YOU TO!", the effect of which seemed to strike Slaanesh dumb.

"LISTEN UP, BOTH OF YOU! Oh, and you can get some earmuffs or something Mortraz, you don't have to listen. I'VE BEEN IN THIS WORLD I NOW HAVE TO CALL HOME FOR ONLY ONE BL**DY DAY, AND I'VE ALREADY BEEN FORCED TO BECOME A CHAOS GOD, NEAR TRAMPLED BY TIDDLES, TOSSED OFF HIS BACK AT HIGH SPEED, GONE PLUMMETING OFF A CLIFF, BEEN CATAPULTED THROUGH THAT PALACE OF DECADANCE OR WHATEVER THE F*** YOU CALL IT SLAANESH, FORCED TO ENDURE WHAT MUST HAVE BEEN THE WORST FIRST DATE EVER, CRUSHED BY NURGLE'S IMPLODING DOOR TRICK, STABBED BY A DAGGER THROWN BY YOU ZEENA, AND HAD AN EAR SEVERED OFF BY ANOTHER DAGGER! WHAT I DO NOT NEED IS ANY EXTRA S**T FROM YOU TWO ARGUING OVER ME!!! SO YOU ARE BOTH GOING TO GET UP, APOLOGISE TO ME, THEN APOLOGISE TO EACH OTHER, AND FINALLY P*SS OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE! ARE WE CLEAR ON THAT?!?"

The two daemonettes looked at each other, then both began "Well, I-"

"ARE. WE. F***ING. CLEAR. ON. THAT!!!!!!"

Silence reined slowly in as the echo of Soloman's tirade drifted away. Zeena and Slaanesh just alternated between staring at him, then at each other, while Mortraz gazed obliviously at the ceiling: when Soloman had said he didn't have to listen, he'd summoned his mp3 and headphones and spent the whole tirade listening to 'Barbie Girl'.

Eventually the two daemonettes looked at Soloman with soppy grins that confused him, then both got up and walked towards him, muttering in that whispering voice girls use when thinking of the man they love.

"So strong..."

"So fierce..."

"So forceful..."

"So dominating..."

And upon reaching him, the two ladies, in perfect synchronicity, draped themselves on an arm each, kissed Soloman on the cheek, rested their heads on his shoulders, close their eyes with a sigh, and gasped "By Chaos, I love you Soloman".

This of course knocked the proverbial wind out of Soloman's proverbial sails.

Noticing the loss of Slaanesh's weight from his lap, Mortraz removed his headphones, glanced at the cuddled up trio, and grinned. "Well," he said, "I see you have the situation under control beef-cake. I'd have rather watched them fight, but hey: you can't have everything in life. I'll leave you to it then. Bye for now." And with that, Mortraz snapped his fingers and he, the two armchairs, and all the popcorn vanished in a puff of purple smoke....

.....Leaving Soloman with two daemonettes hanging off his shoulders and his very confused thoughts.

* * *

"You are certain of its success?"

"Yes Apprentice: we've performed all the tests demanded of us, and in all of them the potion successfully camouflaged. It is ready to test in an actual situation."

"Excellent. Our Lord Sorcerer will be most pleased........"

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** Thus does Chapter 15 end. Sorry about the tiny add-on at the end: I seem to be unable to end without some sort of cliff-hanger.

Anyway, that's this chapter all wrapped up. On to Chapter 16!


	16. Bed, Breakfast, Intrusion, and Slaughter

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 16: Bed, Breakfast, Intrusion, and Slaughter

* * *

The next hour or two were very tedious for Soloman.

With Mortraz having left, Soloman had to find his own way to remove Zeena and Slaanesh, which was made more difficult since they were so tightly wrapped onto his arms that he couldn't use them.

Having finally managed this, his watch began beeping to indicate what, back in the guard regiment, had been the time to turn in. Since his body's internal clock was still running on human time, he felt the need for it.

Unfortunately this had caused further problems. First he had an uphill battle to convince Slaanesh to go back and sleep in her own home. Next, since Zeena had suffered her memory loss, plus she had tried to kill him, and according to her, Tzeentch would punish her severely for her failure, she couldn't go back home for the time being. In the end, despite his brain screaming that what he was doing was foolish since she had attempted to murder him, Soloman hadn't the heart to tell her to go elsewhere, and so had offered her one of the spare bedrooms for the night. This, not surprisingly, set Slaanesh off, and in the end he had to offer her a spare bedroom as well.

And so, eventually, here he was, sitting on his skull throne, slowly drifting off, with Slaanesh and Zeena having gone to bed. He was not in the mood to spend hours looking for his bedroom, and he half expected that if he did, one of the two daemonettes -or maybe both of them- would slip into the bed with him, so the skull throne it was.

He had been pleased to discover that it was a reclining throne, with a footrest that swung up from underneath to lay his feet on. At least he'd sleep with some comfort.

As he drifted off, his mind seemed to run through several things at once. Part of him wondered what he was going to do about Slaanesh and Zeena, a second part of him wondered what the deal was with Tzeentch and why he'd sent Zeena to kill him, a third part of him tried to think about the whole staff situation, and a fourth part of him blissfully thought of his old life, and how he was probably never going to be able to return to it.

He never came to any solid answers, since he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He was too tired: it had, after all, been one incredibly insane day.

* * *

He was eventually awoken, some hours later, by his watch going off yet again. Eyes still shut, he reached down and flicked the alarm off. He felt very calm and relaxed, and a warm, heavy blanket lay on top of him.

_A dream,_ he thought blissfully, _it was all a dream. Well, a nightmare really. That is the last time I drink myself stupid in a celebration of the regiment's victory. Or maybe Balez used his powers to make me have this nightmare. I suppose I better apologise to him later. But it can wait: I've got to get up and get breakfast quick before all the best stuff is gone._

He reached down to lift the heavy blanket off him. When he got a hold of it, he found that it was made of a cotton-like material. _Odd._ What was odder that it didn't feel heavy in itself, but more like something heavy was placed on top of the blanket, and that the heavy lump felt large, and round, and-

"Oooo, you like that honey?"

Soloman's eyes shot open in a heartbeat. He looked down his body, and gave a yelp of shock.

"ZEENA!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON TOP OF ME!!!"

Curled up on his chest, Zeena was staring at him with an amused, sleepy expression. "It's simple honey. I couldn't sleep, so I went to get a midnight snack, but got lost. I ended up here, and found you up here, all alone. It was so saddening: someone as handsome and sweet as you, with no one for company. So I stayed here with you" She answered, as if what she had done was perfectly normal.

Soloman groaned. "Well, I thank you for your.... kindness.... but what made you think I wanted company?"

Zeena's amused look grew greater. "Your hand is indicating you do."

_My hand?_

Soloman looked down the length of his arm to where his hand was, and discovered that the cotton 'blanket' was in fact her shirt, and that the warm, round lump he'd been feeling through the 'blanket' was her left breast.

With a yelp, Soloman flicked his hand off her as if he'd found it dissolving in a vat of acid. Zeena just remained smirking.

"I am so sorry Zeena. I never meant-" Soloman began to ramble, but he was stopped when she gave him a full faced kiss on the lips.

It seemed that Slaanesh's power of 'bliss through a kiss' was accessible to daemonettes, as he felt that care-free happiness all over again for five seconds before she pulled away and lay back down on him.

Shaking his head clear, Soloman decided that enough was enough: he'd been through the whole trapped thing with Slaanesh, and by the God-Emperor he wasn't going to go through the whole thing again with Zeena. He wrapped his arms under her, lifted her up, stood up, and carried her down the steps, with the intention of dumping her back on her own bed.

Of course, irony had other ideas. He had reached the bottom of the steps, and was wondering where her room was, and how he was going to find it, when his single remaining ear winched in pain as a female voice shrieked "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!!!"

He turned to see Slaanesh, wearing a black dressing gown, storm into the room with a look of thunder upon her face.

_Oh God-Emperor, not this crap again._

* * *

Half an hour later found him sitting at a table, quietly choosing food for breakfast, with Slaanesh and Zeena on opposite sides of him, staring daggers at each other. Had it not been the fact that he'd had to stop them killing each other for a second time, Soloman would have found it hilarious. As it was, he piled food onto his plate whilst keeping his eyes firmly on the two.

The food at least was delicious. It was a full cooked breakfast, which he'd found all set out ready for them. He would have wondered who had done it, but his hunger overrode his curiosity. At any rate, judging by the smug look Slaanesh was giving Zeena, she had most likely done it to get back at the older daemonette.

He was munching his way through a pile of what looked like red scrambled egg but which tasted like pork when he noticed that neither of the girls had touched their food since they were too busy staring each other out.

With a sigh, he asked "Are you two going to eat, or are you going to stare at each other until one of you drops dead from starvation?"

"I'm not eating until I'm sure she isn't going to pull another stunt like this morning" snapped Slaanesh.

"I'll eat once this young lady proves she's not going to perform a 'stunt' of her own" retorted Zeena.

Soloman shrugged. "Suit yourselves: more daemonic egg for me."

"Without moving her gaze anywhere else, Slaanesh corrected him. "We don't have daemonic eggs."

"Oh. Well, what is it then?"

"Mashed ork brain."

Soloman stopped and gagged. "Did you just say ork brain?"

"That's right."

"Then what was that white drink that tasted like milk?"

"Liquidised tyranid eyeballs."

Going green now, Soloman finished with "And those blue sausages?"

"Strips of tau muscle, wrapped in their blue flesh."

Soloman spent a long time after this puking up in what he hoped was the kitchen sink.

* * *

When he could finally stand up straight without bringing up any more breakfast, he found that the girls were still eyeing each other. Not wanting to deal with this sh*t, he staggered out of the room with the intention of finding somewhere in this house where he could have peace and quiet.

_Great, _he thought to himself._ It's -what, only 8 in the morning- and already I've had to deal with another argument and had what was a nice breakfast only to discover its horrible origins. This day couldn't get any worse._

"_Having trouble adjusting, are you?"_

Soloman moaned yet again._ I just had to think that, didn't I? Now the disembodied voice is back. What do you want?_

"_Hey cool it- no need to be hostile."_

_Voice, as you have noticed, my new life is currently up sh*t creek, so unless this is very important, sod off._

"_I'm here to help you out."_

_Yeah right. Why would you want to do that?_

"_Because I don't want the Imperium to be destroyed by the Chaos Gods anymore than you do, and you're in a position to make sure of that."_

_Care to explain?_

"_The Chaos Gods only ever attack the galaxy when they aren't fighting amongst themselves, and they see it being worth their while. Well, Nurgle has most of what he wants, so he's not too fussed about leaving humanity alone. As for Slaanesh, she just wants vices and pleasure, and she's got you for that now,-"_

_Hey, if you think I'm going to get friendly with Slaanesh, you've got another-_

The disembodied voice continued over him._ "The old Khorne would use any excuse for fighting, but you've replaced him now. So that just leaves Tzeentch as the remaining problem. One you'll need to deal with."_

_Why?_

"_Because Tzeentch is nurturing plans of dominance and conquest, and if he succeeds then believe me, both your life and the life of the Imperium will become far worse than it is now."_

_I highly doubt that. And why do you care for the Imperium?_

A moment's pause, then _"Because you could say I'm... something of a patriot."_

Soloman let out a sigh. _All right. Assuming you're telling the truth, what do I have to do?_

"_For now, just stay alert. Things are going to happen real fast real soon, and you'll need to be prepared to respond."_

_That's it?!?!_

"_Hey, I'm not a mind-reader. Well, I am, but not of daemonic minds. I can only guess what Tzeentch is up to."_

Soloman muttered something about incompetence under his breath, and then thought-asked _Is that all?_

"_For the present."_

_Then go away_

"_Fair enough. Oh, one more thing."_

_What?_

"_Those followers of yours are being attacked by the tau, so feel free to be brutal."_

_All right. Wait, what? What followers? What tau?_

Silence was his first answer, for the voice had gone again.

The second answer was in a new voice, which cried out "Great and Mighty Lord, we call to you!"

_What the- _

* * *

Everything went suddenly pitch-black, and Soloman felt as though he was being dragged forwards through icy water. The pressure pressed against him, aggravating his chest and ear wound. He couldn't open his mouth to scream because that would ensure that he would drown, and he didn't dare open his eyes in case the pressure burst them.

When this horrendous sensation finally stopped, he found himself still in endless darkness, except there were two columns of light. He was standing in the middle of one, and in front of him, knelt down with his eyes to the ground was a small man with a golden mask, in dark crimson robes, with what bits of his body that were visible being completely scarred.

It took Soloman a moment to work out that he had a cultist priest calling for divine aid in some task.

_Oh f***._

Trying to remain calm, he spoke, in what was his best attempt at a deep, evil voice, "I am here, servant. What do you summon me for?"

Either he'd somehow done a good enough imitation of Khorne's voice, or some godly power was making his voice sound different to the apostle's ears, because the priest continued without any indication of noticing the change in his figure of worship. "Lord Khorne, an alien army lies before us. We call upon you for an army of daemons, so we might spill this blood in your name, and so conquer this planet to add to your dark empire."

_Wonderful. Just wonderful. Now what do I do?_ Then Soloman remembered what the disembodied voice had said._ This alien army must be a force of tau._

An evil grin somehow spread over Soloman's face, and he found himself cracking his knuckles with glee. It was probably because he was now the Blood God, but the prospect of war and carnage suddenly filled him with pleasure.

"You will have your daemons, servant. And with them you will rip apart the alien tau as a gift to me!" he roared, and this time he didn't need to imitate: his voice came out exactly as Khorne's had been. Somehow just knowing what to do, he clenched his fists, threw back his head, and gleefully howled loudly up the column of light like a demented animal.

Behind the priest a massive third wall of light appeared with a ripping noise, and a titanic army of Khorne's people –millions of Bloodletters, hundreds of thousands of Juggernauts and Bloodcrushers, and thousands of massive Bloodthirsters- all poured out of the domains and into the mortal world, all of them repeating Soloman's howl.

The priest glanced behind him at the horde, then said with a voice filled with awe "Oh master, we thank you. Your will shall be done."

"It had better be," answered Soloman, still sounding evil and filled with dark glee. "I will have blood spilt today, and if it doesn't come from dying tau, then it'll be coming from my people gutting you. Am I clear?"

A few moments pause, then with fear layering his tone, the priest answered "O-o-of course, m-m-m-my Lord."

Soloman opened his mouth to dismiss the priest, but before he could, he felt a tug, and he was suddenly being dragged backwards. This time, the pressure was still there, but the water felt boiling hot, and he could make out faint voices, growing louder.

"He's just being called by his followers, that's all."

"Then why's he gagging on his tongue and flailing?"

"How should I know: maybe because it's his first time? I don't know how the Blood God's intervention works."

With a rasping gasp for air, the sensation stopped and Soloman had to screw up his eyes as sudden light blinded him.

* * *

When he could open them without pain, he found himself flat on his back, in the same corridor he'd been in when both voices had appeared. Slaanesh and Zeena were both kneeling down either side of him.

"Are you all right?" they asked simultaneously, worry etched on their faces.

Soloman sat upright. He could taste a trickle of blood in his mouth, and his chest and ear wounds were throbbing like mad, but he was otherwise fine. "I'm okay," he responded, and without the evil voice or carnage-loving anymore. "Or at least, no new injuries to report."

Both daemonettes sagged with relief.

Curious as to what had happened to him, Soloman asked "What was all that about gagging and flailing anyway?"

Zeena answered, explaining how when the two of them had noticed that he'd gone, they'd come out to look for him, and found him rolling on the floor, gagging for air, arms and legs flailing everywhere, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. "We were getting seriously worried about what was happening to you: you were like that for some three hours or so."

_Three hours?_ Thought Soloman._ Then it must be lunchtime._

At the thought of food, his stomach gave a loud growl that all three of them could clearly hear.

Slaanesh smirked. "Come on sweetheart, let's get you up and fed."

To Soloman's surprise, both daemonettes helped him to his feet without so much as a harsh look. It seemed their rivalry had been temporarily put aside out of their shared concern of him.

_God-Emperor be praised. Maybe now I'll have some peace._

Out loud, he said "All right ladies, lead the way."

Just like last night, the duo wrapped themselves onto a shoulder each, but this time Soloman let them, as they were doing it to help him stay steady on his feet rather than out of some strange romance.

Slaanesh looked at him curiously. "You're smiling" she stated, and Soloman realised that he was: partly because of the truce between Zeena and Slaanesh, and also because of the whole incident with the priest and the daemons had come to him so easily.

"Well," he replied, "I'll explain it all later, but I found that I just might be able to handle the whole 'Blood God' thing after all. I just need to...... acclimatise, so to speak."

"Well that's good to hear honey," said Zeena, and she was smiling too.

Soloman was surprised to find himself staring at both of them almost fondly._ Aw screw it: maybe a life with the likes of these two won't be such a bad thing._

As they set off in a bundle back down the corridor to the kitchen, he suddenly remembered the whole incident earlier, and added hastily "But there is one thing ladies."

The two daemonettes looked up to him. "Yes?"

"From now on, I'm doing my own cooking."

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** Thus ends Chapter 16, the last update of 2009. Thankfully there isn't a cliff-hanger this time.

Due to the fact that I, like most of you, will be celebrating Christmas and to a lesser extent the New Year, and so will be busy with the family, I may not get a chance to update during the week of New Year's, so I did an extra-long chapter to tide you over. I originally only thought it would be slightly longer, but ended up with double the word count and nearly triple the number of pages: effectively 2 chapters meshed into one! So please make this chapter last!

Anyway, enough babbling from me: I'll be waiting for you in 2010 with Chapter 17 in the making.

And until then, I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!


	17. Interview insanity part 1

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 17: Interview insanity-part 1

* * *

**One week later......**

The daemonic equivalent of an alarm clock screeched loudly in the early hours of the 'morning'-or rather, as close to morning as was possible in a realm where the sky was permanently orange-, and was swiftly silenced as Soloman, occupying the bed adjacent to the alarm clock, picked his axe off the floor and cleaved the clock in two. Yawning loudly, he forced himself out of the bed, and went to have a shower in hot Eldar blood.

This last week -his first as the Blood God- had actually gone quite well for Soloman. It had mostly been one of acclimatisation: he'd been regularly summoned by worshippers, so he'd worked out a decent method for dealing with that, and thankfully he hadn't yet been summoned to kill his fellow humans. He'd also worked out how to get around the main rooms of his home without getting lost, and best of all, Zeena and Slaanesh, who were both still staying here, seemed to have finally accepted that neither of them was going to pull some deceitful trick on the other and/or Soloman, and so were now getting along rather well.

True, they still kept flirting with him, and he still had to sort out his own food, but hopefully today he'd be able to deal with both problems, albeit one of them being temporary.

The day after his first summoning, he'd subscribed to the local newspaper –the Haemoglobin Herald- and had placed an ad for new staff to be employed at his castle. Today, he was going to have to interview the applicants, and apparently there had been many. That was okay though, since with such a big home he was going to need a fair-sized staff anyway. To make things better, Slaanesh and Zeena, in an attempt to say sorry to each other, were going shopping together, so they'd be gone all day.

Having finished his shower, he dried off, slipped on his shorts and belt, and went to make himself breakfast. That was one thing he was going to have to sort out with the new cook: having some 'human' food amongst all the daemonic stuff, and by that he meant food humans eat rather than food made from humans.

(**Typicalteenager:** There are in fact a number of dishes made from humans or including human parts. The most popular of these is 'Meat Surprise Pie', a dish with the meat being whatever assortment of mortals' organs –race is irrelevant- and the pastry being human skin. It is best served with a small glass of 'Warboss Whisky', a drink made of liquidised Ork kidneys, and can be purchased in all good daemonic bakeries and restaurants.)

After successfully managing to stomach mashed Ork brain on tenderised Tyranid chitin plates –it was quite nice if you didn't think about the origin of its ingredients- Soloman made his way to the throne room, where he intended to conduct the interviews.

Mortraz looked up as he entered. "Ah, beef-cake. Are we all ready to begin? I've seen the queue for applicants, and it's going to take a long time to whittle it down."

"Almost Mortraz. Just teleport me to the throne, set up the veil, and you can call in the first one."

A problem Soloman had realised after placing the ad for new staff was that all of them would be expecting a daemon to be the new Blood God, and not a human. To get around this, he'd called Mortraz to act as the interviewer, whilst he oversaw them from up on the skull throne. The 'veil' was one of Mortraz's powers: to be able to set up a cloud of perfume that it was impossible to see into, but perfectly clear to see out from. The idea was that Soloman would sit on the throne, wrapped in the perfume cloud, able to see the whole process, whilst the applicants wouldn't be able to see him.

With a flash of purple light, Soloman was upon the throne, and the veil in place. Everything was ready.

"All right Mortraz, let's get this started."

A click of Mortraz's fingers, and the first of what would be many applicants appeared.

* * *

5 hours later, and things were progressing slowly. They had interviewed about 150 applicants –it was easy to tell which daemons would be completely useless at any household task, and these were gotten rid of quickly- and had only ended up with about 6 daemons worth giving a second interview: 5 daemonettes applying to be maids, and one old daemon who claimed to be applying to be the new Blood God's legal representative, which worried Soloman as he hadn't been aware of the Chaos Gods being bound by any laws.

It didn't help that all the applicants seemed to fit into set social groups: so far every applicant had either been a weak daemon effectively offering himself as a slave, a strong daemon going on about how great he was and what an honour it would be to serve, or a daemonette in very revealing clothing offering to be a maid and who, judging by the look on their face, wanted the job just to get into Soloman's bed and/or pants. God Emperor, one of the 5 daemonettes chosen for a second interview had been so scantily-clad that her revealing bra and thong looked as though they were strips of duct tape.

"All right," mumbled Soloman wearily for the umpteenth time, "Who's next?"

Mortraz looked down his clipboard, this time having to squint. "Hold on a minute beef-cake: this writing is atrocious. Um......I can't make out the name, but the person appears to be applying to be the new cook."

Soloman perked up a bit at this. "All right, send them in."

Mortraz clicked his fingers, and a flash of purple light announced the arrival of the applicant.

"Waaarrrggghhh!!! All rightz, boss?!?!"

Soloman's jaw dropped open with shock. The applicant wasn't a daemon or daemonette, but a massive ork: standing about 9 feet tall and 3 feet wide, rippling with muscles. Its face was almost square in shape, it large fanged jaw giving it a mean under-bite. It had a single long tuft of black hair tied in a ponytail, and its tiny red eyes were sunk into its head. Its clothes were baggy brown leather trousers, a looted imperial flight jacket, black boots, and a dirty white apron, with a massive chain axe hanging in one hand. And to round it off, its thick green skin, axe, and clothes were all splattered with enough blood to make an ocean.

When he eventually found his voice again, Soloman spluttered "Mortraz, what is going on?"

"Well beef-cake, the ork applied for the job: filled out the paperwork and everything."

"Hang on, how does an ork fill out paperwork?"

Mortraz double checked his clipboard. "Apparently, in blood...or soup-I'm not sure which."

Soloman just shook his head in amazement. _Well, the madness was on holiday for a week. It had to come back sometime._ "All right then, Mr...."

"Blud an' Gutz!!!!!!" roared the ork.

".....uh, yes, Mr. Gutz: what makes you believe you would be the best choice to be cook?"

"Well, I iz able to make a meal out of anythin', I iz a very creative, e-spesh-all-lee for an ork, and I iz been a suck-cess-full doc four all the major warbosses. Just ask me wat you wish for a meal, and I iz doing it for you." The ork gave the ork equivalent of a smug look, and a grin that implied it was about to rip someone's throat out.

"O-kay....." said Soloman. After all, what else could he say?

"Um, sir," muttered Mortraz as quietly as possible, "This may not be the best time to point this out, but before we continue this interview further, I think you should know that this ork is our only applicant for the position of cook."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Oh very well then," groaned Soloman, with the sigh of accepting the inevitable. "Very well Mr. Blud an' Gutz: the job is yours!"

"Yaaayyysss!!! Fank you boss: you won't regret this!" And with that, the ork charged out of the hall to find the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood boot prints behind it, with the intent of sorting out lunch.

Soloman just rolled his eyes. "God-Emperor give me strength: 5 hours of interviews, 6 possibilities so far, hundreds of more applicants, and so far the only guaranteed staff member is some ork medic as our cook in what must have been one of the shortest interviews ever. I just know I'll regret this."

Mortraz just shrugged. "We make do with what we've got beef-cake."

"..........................Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope."

Soloman raised his head to the sky and closed his eyes. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Well if you recall beef-cake, your friends chanted that you were better than darrrrling Khorne, so Khorne got all uptight about that and challenged you, which resulted in him being banished and you promptly taking over his throne," Mortraz answered with a smile. "Shall I send for the next applicant?"

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** And with that Chapter 17 ends. My apologies for missing last week's update and this one being late: trying to get everything back into routine.

All that's left to do is say see you for Chapter 18 next week!


	18. Interview insanity part 2

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 18: Interview insanity-part 2

(Note: I am so sorry everyone. I've had so many things piled on me one after another that I've had to ignore my fanfiction for over a month. Thankfully, I should be able to resume weekly updates now.)

* * *

It took a grand total of 14 hours from start to finish for Soloman and Mortraz to get through all the applicants. By the time the last one had left, both of them felt weary in a way that only endless repeating a task could bring. On the plus side though, they had accepted a large number of people for second interviews, and had at least one person covering each job in the staff.

When the last daemon had left, Mortraz physically sagged and clasped his head with one hand, the other clicking its fingers to remove the veil. "Aw man beef-cake- I never realised interviewing people could become so depressing. I feel like slitting my wrists right now."

Soloman looked at Mortraz in alarm. "What, is that some sadomasochist way for you to feel better?"

Mortraz looked at Soloman in confusion. "What?"

"Oh nothing, nothing," replied Soloman hastily.

(**Typicalteenager:** It is interesting to note that chroniclers have found that Mortraz's comment about wrist-slitting was spoken at roughly the same time that the term 'emo' began to be used on Terra. Whether there is any link between the two has resulted in much speculation.)

"But I know what you mean about the depressing part," Soloman continued. "If I see another scantily-clad daemonette ever again I am so going to gouge my eyes out."

"No point beef-cake. They'd repair themselves within a few hours."

"I don't care: if a few hours without sight are all I can have, I'll take it and make the most of it."

A few moments of silence passed between the two, then they heard a faint clanging noise, and Slaanesh's voice cry out from some distance.

"Sweetheart, we're home! And we've got some treats for you!"

Mortraz let out another sigh. "Well I guess I'd better be going. I'll pop in tomorrow and we can sort out a time for the second interviews."

Soloman nodded. "Fine by me." Then he sat up right, and added "Oh, Mortraz?"

Mortraz looked up to him.

"Thanks for all your help with everything. Remind me to send you some sort of gift once I work out how."

Mortraz smiled, and then clicked his fingers, resulting in him and all the paperwork disappearing in purple smoke.

Pulling himself together, Soloman got up, clambered down the throne, and headed for the entrance to see Slaanesh and Zeena.

* * *

When he reached the entrance, the two daemonettes were holding dresses against themselves to show off to each other. When they spotted Soloman, they both squealed with delight and kissed him on his cheeks.

Soloman smirked. "I take it you two had a good time?"

"Oh it was fantastic honey!" replied Zeena. "And we got some stuff for you as well."

Slaanesh dumped a load of bags into his arms. "These are all yours sweetheart. Now, you just go and dump these on your bed, and then come to the dining room so we can tell you all about it."

"Fine by me," said Soloman, turning around and beginning to head off. He stopped when he heard Zeena ask "Are you all right honey?"

"I'm fine ladies. It's just been a long day. I never thought interviewing could be so tedious."

"Well when you come back honey, I'm sure we can give you a massage," answered Zeena, and both she and Slaanesh giggled like schoolgirls.

Soloman raised an eyebrow at this "We? Now fighting between you two over who gets to do it?"

"Oh no sweetheart," said Slaanesh with a grin. "We'll just take it in turns."

Soloman left the two daemonettes still giggling, glad that the friendliness between them seemed to be genuine and not formed on some sort of truce.

As he made his way to his bedroom, he couldn't help but wonder what on Terra they had got him that required so many bags. In fact, was he even going to like what they'd gotten him? If he didn't, would he be able to successfully fake glee enough to convince them that he did like it?

He cut off this train of thought as he reached his room. Unable to turn the handle due to all the bags, he rammed it open with his shoulder.

"Hi there."

Soloman dumped the bags on the floor just inside the door, then walked back out, pulling the door shut behind him.

He then opened the door again and walked back in to see who had spoken.

Sitting on his bed, looking at his with something off a soppy grin, was a small daemonette. Her size, combined with her slightly squeaky voice, suggested that she was the daemonic equivalent of a teenager. And she was looking at Soloman with an expression of confusion.

Soloman was about to ask who she was when he noticed that she was scantily-clad in a bra and thong that looked as though they were made of duct tape. "Hang on- I know you," he exclaimed. "You're one of the daemonettes we accepted for a second interview."

"Um... well, yes" replied the daemonette. Still looking puzzled, she said "I'm sorry, but I'm a little confused. I thought this was the bedroom of the mighty Blood God Khorne."

"Well you're right. It is."

"Oh. But then who are you? Are you a former hero taken as a slave by the Blood God?"

"Ah," muttered Soloman. _Crap. How am I going to explain this to her?_ "Well, you see, the thing is-"

But he got no further, as both Slaanesh and Zeena popped up behind him, with Zeena asking "What's taking so long honey? Are you looking at your presents now?

Soloman turned to them. "Well ladies, it seems I have an unexpected guest."

The two daemonettes both gave him a look of confusion, but then they spotted the third daemonette, who'd suddenly gone white and had an expression somewhere between shock and terror.

Before Soloman could explain, Slaanesh stormed past him right up to the young daemonette, slapped her across the face, grabbed her by her hair, and dragged her out of the room.

Soloman stared for a moment before starting, following Slaanesh, calling "What on Terra? Slaanesh, what are you-"

But Zeena stopped him in the doorway. "Honey, this is a girls' thing. I'm afraid you need to stay here until we're finished."

"Why? What is Slaanesh doing?"

"I'll explain over dinner. Right now, please stay here, and we'll fetch you when we're done."

* * *

Shortly after that, the trio were tucking into a delicious human-style roast dinner. _Full credit to Blud an' Gutz,_ Soloman thought, _he really does know how to cook a meal._

However, while the meal was great, Zeena's explanation of the events earlier were not.

"So let me get this straight," Soloman said, trying to remain both patient and calm, "you two decided that I was to be 'your man', and so under some sort of claim no other daemonette interact with me without your permission?"

"Yeah."

"So you then put a symbol on my front door, which meant this, for everyone to see?"

"Correct."

"Which meant that that daemonette was breaking this unspoken rule, thereby giving you the right to beat her up?"

"Exactly. Simple and effective."

"Well yes Zeena, it's clearly very effective," grumbled Soloman sarcastically.

Zeena smiled. "I'm glad you agree honey."

Soloman didn't know whether she had missed his sarcasm or was deliberately ignoring it, but to be honest he really couldn't care. What he did care about was where he could buy a ladder and some sort of paint-remover so he could scrub the daemonettes' symbol off his front door.

At that moment, Blud an' Gutz appeared with some more roast to top up their plates, and Soloman gave up that train of thought for now.

"Mr. Gutz," he said, "you truly are a great cook. This meal is one of the best I've had in a long time."

"Fanks Boss," the orc replied, showing off his fanged grin. "It helps that da meet was still squirming an' riggling when I gots it from der pantry."

This caught Soloman unawares, and puzzled him. "You used live meat?"

"Yes Boss: it meens its rear-lee fresh meet."

"But we don't have any live meat in the pantry. It already dead and chopped into sections whenever it's deliv-"

Slowly, Soloman stopped talking, looked down at the meal, and then turned to Slaanesh: a horrible thought had just occurred to him. "Slaanesh, after you two had finished beating that daemonette up, what did you do with her?"

Slaanesh looked up at him. "Huh? Oh, her. Yeah, we tied her up and dumped her in the pantry, sweetheart. Why do you ask?"

Soloman slowly looked down at the succulent roast meat on his plate, and said the first words that came to mind.

"Oh f*ck."

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** Thus ends Chapter 18. As I said earlier, I should now be able to return to weekly updates. Therefore, I'll see you all next week with Chapter 19, and some proper plot development at last.

P.S. I have a small query you may be able to help me with: If Soloman is now a God of daemons, and he's just eaten one, does it count as cannibalism?


	19. Recon and riots part 1

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 19: Recon and riots-part 1

* * *

The first thing he noticed as he entered Tzeentch's city was how cold the air was, his breath visible as it left his nose and mouth. It was as if someone had turned a thermostat down to just above freezing.

The second thing was how everyone was near silent, the few strands of conversation rapid and in whispers, as if the speakers were afraid of getting into trouble for talking.

Soloman couldn't help but feel that he might have got in over his head with his plan, but now that he was here, he might as well see it through.

It had all started the night before when he'd finished his 'new' dinner (his 'old' being the adolescent daemonette), and had left Zeena and Slaanesh asking Blud an' Gutz if it were possible for him to make certain meals. He had felt somewhat disgusted at what Slaanesh and Zeena had done to the daemonette, and was thinking about why he was still letting them stay in his keep. It had been then that he had remembered why Zeena had turned up in the first place, and that there was nothing to suggest that her husband wouldn't send a second assassin. So Soloman had come to the conclusion that he was going to have to find out 1) why Tzeentch had sent an assassin, 2) was he going to send another, and 3) why he remained unseen whilst everyone else was looking to meet the new Blood God.

The 'plan', if it could be called that, had been that he would enter Tzeentch's city, and.... well, what happened next would depend on what he would find. He had also decided that he was going to go on his own: Slaanesh's pink skin would stick out amongst all the blue and purple skins, and Zeena would be recognised instantly.

And so earlier this morning, he'd told Slaanesh that the daemonette she'd beaten up was one of many coming for a second interview, which had resulted in Slaanesh demanding that she would perform the second interviews with Mortraz. Soloman had agreed, since it was the response he had wanted. He had then asked Zeena to take Tiddles out for some time to play, which she had agreed to do. Finally, he'd gone into his city around his keep and, pretending to be a slave sent on an errand, had bought a massive black hooded cloak with the symbol of Chaos Undivided on it –a cloak that covered his entire body, before putting it on and heading for Tzeentch's city.

The reason for the cloak was thanks to his 'Being the Blood God for dummies' book, what he had consulted, resulting in his finding of the following entry, and left him wondering if the book could somehow read his mind:

_**How to sneak into another daemon's city without detection**_

_**Simply purchase a massive black hooded cloak with the symbol for Chaos Undivided on it. Undivided daemons have neither alliance nor division with any other Chaos power, and so are allowed into any city, provided they respect that city's laws.**_

And so here Soloman was, standing just inside the gate, feeling uneasy around all the blue crystal buildings that promoted the bitter coldness of the air. Perhaps the citizens felt uneasy too, hence why they spoke in rapid whispers.

Making sure the cloak and hood covered him completely, he began to walk down the street, trying to listen to the conversations being whispered from time to time. Though he couldn't make out the words, the general emotion of all was clear: it was of a desperate need for reassurance against something frightening, a reassurance that others were unable to give.

Soloman couldn't help but feel a small amount of pity for these daemons. In both his and Slaanesh's cities, everyone had been happy -perverted in Slaanesh's city, and somewhat violent in his, but still happy. Here though, everyone seemed dreary and uncaring of their lives. Someone could suddenly kill a dozen of them in a random murder spree and the rest would probably continue as if nothing had happened. Was this what Tzeentch was like: a dark power so cruel that he had broken the spirit of his people, reducing them to this zombie-like state?

Worry filled Soloman's thoughts, for it seemed that Tzeentch was going to be just like the monsters that the Imperium had always portrayed daemons as.

Reaching the end of the street, he found himself at the edge of a market square. Passing through it, he continued along a second street, ending up at what seemed to be the centre of the city. Here, all the paths connected into a large roundabout.

And in the middle of the roundabout –well, it could only be Tzeentch's tower: it gave a sense of foreboding and ancient darkness that clearly rattled the citizens that passed by.

It stood tall and proud, dwarfing all the other buildings in the city. Like the rest of the city it was made out of blue crystal, but this crystal was dark blue, as if aged, and somehow just seemed more.... solid, as if altered to act more like the stones used for buildings in the other cities. A massive gate made out of daemetal stood sealed at the top of a wide flight of stairs, with armed and armoured guards either side. But what really caught Soloman's attention and confirmed his belief was that here there was no talking at all, not even the rapid whispers. Complete silence reigned.

Or did it? As he walked around the tower, Soloman spotted a single daemon standing up against the wall of the tower. Though no words were audible, he was clearly trying to speak with everyone who passed him, but without success, for everyone just ignored him.

Soloman just knew, without question, that he was someone he wanted to talk to. Call it a sixth sense, call it a gut feeling –this daemon was going to be able to help him. He slowly trundled over to him, trying not to look as if he was deliberately heading for him.

As he drew near, the daemon turned to him and whispered desperately "Please friend, listen to me."

Slowing to a halt, Soloman turned his head ever-so-slightly to the daemon, and asked "Listen to what?"

Barely suppressed joy crossed the daemon's face before returning to his worried expression, as he hastily continued. "Friend, your help is required. We must move quickly if we are all to be saved."

This increased Soloman's curiosity. "Saved? What do you mean?"

"Do you not feel it? The air still and bitter cold, the fear and unease that flows through all? Dreadful things are afoot."

"Speak quickly then," replied Soloman, "so that I may help if I can."

"I need you to go to the other three Gods and beg for intervention."

"Why? And what makes you think they'll agree?"

"Because they won't want to be slaves, oh no, that's how I know they'll agree."

"Look, start making some sense: what do you mean slaves?"

The daemon, starting to gasp for breath, as if his very thoughts were choking him, began to hastily explain in hushed tones, his eyes constantly darting from side to side. "I am a lowly cleaner in the tower of our Lord Sorcerer. It is said that he was once the greatest of all the daemons, ruling like an Emperor, and that he hopes one day to return to that, his finest hour. This is but one of many tales told about him on the streets, but those people have not seen or heard as I have. Dark grins, smug expressions amongst his researchers and acolytes, talks of successful advancements and testing. A week ago the Lady Zeena simply disappeared and has not been seen or heard since. And then yesterday...."

The daemon stopped for a moment, breathing deeply to try and remain calm, before continuing, "Yesterday, I heard them say 'It is done. Our success even now flows through the water'".

Now Soloman was very confused. "Even now our success flows through the water?"

Practically wheezing now, the daemon nodded. "Yes. I fear that our Lord Sorcerer may at last have found a way to return to his dominant empire of old, and that it has already begun."

"But why are you so terrified? You're one of Tzeentch's people: for you this must be a good thing."

Spluttering, the daemon shook his head violently. "When he was ruler over all, he treated all like scum. Indeed, when the other three Gods rose against him we helped them cast him down. If he returns to that position, history will repeat itself. I know it."

"But why are you telling me this? Can't you go to them yourself?"

The daemon's skin went pale with terror as he struggled to remain calm enough to be coherent. "No! They know that I know. Don't ask me how, I just know. They'll come for me, they'll...... they'll..."

"They'll what? What will they do?"

But the daemon was now bent double, gagging and clutching his throat. Soloman bent down to look at his face, and found his pale skin tinged green, black blood pouring from his eyes and nose. He spluttered, and flecks of foamy froth landed on Soloman's cloak. Then, without another word, the daemon simply fell backwards into a slump against the wall, a gargling rattle dying in his throat.

Soloman just stood there in shock. He knew now what the daemon had been going to say, and due to having had a friend in the Mordian 112th's medical core, he knew what the green tinge to the skin was most likely to mean.

The daemon had been poisoned.

A dark chill flooded through Soloman body like ice. He remembered from his first meeting Slaanesh that anyone in this realm who died would be reborn an hour later. Yet he couldn't help but believe –perhaps another sixth sense/gut feeling moment- that if this daemon was reborn, it would be with the poison still in his veins, doomed to repeatedly die this gruesome death until the antidote was given to him.

And he was willing to bet his axe that the only person who had the antidote was Tzeentch himself.

Soloman couldn't help but fear that what he had assumed to be a 'simple' assassination was in fact one part of a dark plan that would affect them all.

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** And with that I draw Chapter 19 to a close. At last, the dark plot continues. But what exactly is it, and how will affect our human-turned-Blood God? Chapter 20 –part 2 of Recon and riots- will hopefully move the story in the right direction.


	20. Recon and riots part 2

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 20: Recon and riots-part 2

* * *

It took several seconds for Soloman to get over his horror at what had just transpired. Even though he'd seen his share of gut-churning incidents, both as a soldier and now as the Blood God, nothing seemed as terrible as this. After all, what kind of sick, twisted mind would design and use a poison that would remain in a daemon when it was reborn, thereby forcing them to die a gruesome death again and again?

_Someone who wants to make sure this daemon never got to talk._

And it had almost succeeded: if Soloman had arrived a few minutes later, this daemon would have been already dead, and he'd have never passed on his message.

The Blood God shook himself out of his thoughts. He needed to get away from here. The daemon had said that 'they knew that he knew', they probably being servants of Tzeentch. Which meant there was a good chance someone would either be watching, or on their way, to make sure this daemon was dead, and most likely to dispose of the body.

Making sure the cloak and hood still fully covered him, Soloman steadily backed off and walked away. He left the poor daemon's body, feeling a pang of guilt, but there was nothing more he could do for this guy, except make sure his message was delivered. So, first things first –get out of the city, tell Slaanesh and Zeena what had happened, then contact Mortraz and Nurgle and tell them.

He walked normally, concentrating on the street, avoiding looking up, as the last thing he needed was to have a panic attack. Back around the tower he went, along the second street, through the square, and onto the first street, heading for the gate.

As he approached the gate, he stopped for a moment to calm himself. _It's okay. The daemon had lost them when he went into the city. No-one knows he told anyone, and even if they do, lots of daemons probably have black cloaks, and they can't have seen my face._

It was then that he noticed voices, only instead of the hushed whispers of everyone else, these voices were speaking clearly, and sounded someone was having a problem.

"Bro, hold still. What wrong?"

"Argh..... my head..... it feels like it going to explode...."

"Okay okay, stay still, and we'll go get help-"

"No.... no please..... don't...."

Looking up and around, Soloman spotted the source of commotion by the gate. Two daemons and a daemonette were huddled together. One daemon was just standing there, his back to Soloman, whilst the daemonette was crouched down, his hand on the shoulder of the second daemon, looking both confused and slightly frightened. But it was the second daemon that drew Soloman's attention. On his knees and bent double, one hand was clasped to his head, the other to his stomach. His had blotches of black all up his arms to his shoulders, and his hands were arched like claws. His whole body was covered in sweat and shaking, and he seemed to be about to vomit: what few words he gasped out were panic-filled.

The daemonette held him tightly. "Bro, please, we need to go get you help. You're really sick, and we need-"

The second daemon had stopped shaking, the sweat glistening on his body.

"Bro?" The daemonette lent in closer. "Bro, has it stopped? Are-"

But her sentence was replaced with a mouth full of blood as she went flying back. The second daemon had swung out his arm and smacked her in the face, knocking her unconscious body several feet away.

The standing daemon leapt back. "Dude, what the hell?!?!"

The second daemon's response was to sink his arched fingers into his friend's torso, and toss him over his shoulder, where he crashed next to the daemonette.

_Oh sh*t!_

There was a scream behind him, and Soloman turned in time to see a shopkeeper grabbed a customer's head and slam it into the wall. Then a howling made him turn and see a daemonette claw at her companion's face.

_What the f*ck?_

Even as he stood there, the street around him turned from a silent walkway into a battle ground within seconds. Lots of daemons were grabbing others and attacking them, beating them, some even killing them. The air was suddenly filled with shrieks, screams, and howls, the ground covered in drops of blood.

_God-Emperor, what's happening? What's bl**dy happening?_

Ducking to avoid a tossed daemon, Soloman ran up to the side of the street, and began weaving along towards the gate, trying to escape. He got within 5 feet before one howl alerted him to someone behind him. He began to turn, but wasn't quite fast enough, as a daemonette dived at him and bit down hard on his arm.

"ARRRGGGGHHH!!!!" yelled Soloman, as he felt her teeth dig in deep, and then pull back as if trying to gouge strips of meat from his arm.

"YOU F*CKING B*TCH!!!" he roared at her, and without thinking used two fingers from his other hand and jabbed them into her face, feeling hot glop cover them as they hit her eyes, pierced them and kept going right through.

The daemonette let go of his arm with a high-pitched shriek, then suddenly stabbed her fingers into his chest and flung him away from the gate. Crying out in pain, Soloman was sent flying up, back along the street, over the roof of a house, and crashing down onto a stall in the market.

The scene here was the same as the street. For all he knew the entire city was like this.

Dragging himself off the stall, clutching his chest, now covered with 10 finger-sized holes spurting blood, Soloman reached down for his axe. Then he remembered that he was still in disguise, and that the axe would give him away: it might even turn the crazy daemons' attention from their fellow daemons onto him.

A flicker of anger at the crazy daemonette passed through him as the pain in his chest flared up.

_Oh f*ck the disguise: better recognised than dead._

Pulling the cloak off his body and tossing it away, Soloman pulled out the axe, spent a split-second to focus on the pain, and then with a roar flung himself into the madness.

Any sense of what was happening around him was lost as he hacked and slashed at everyone that came at him. He didn't even know what direction he was heading in: he just kept forcing his way forward. One daemon clawed at his face and he punched it away and over the rooftops. Another leapt at him, and was rewarded with being cleaved down the middle. A daemonette swung at him, and he embedded its axe in its chest, only for it to fall down and drag the axe out of his hands. With another daemonette charging at him, he didn't even blink as he caught its hand, ripped her arm off her body through sheer strength, and used the jagged bone of her shoulder to gut her, before grabbing and breaking her neck, and only then retrieving his axe. It seemed to glow as it drowned due to bucketfuls of blood covering it, his hands and his torso.

Soloman split another daemon in twain, and suddenly found himself without anyone else to fight, the crazy daemons all attacking others. He tried to gain his bearings, but he had no idea where in the city he was, or where to go.

His foot touched something cold. He looked down, and found himself standing on a cover for a manhole into the sewers. His emotions instantly started conflicting, part of him wanting to return to the fight, whilst the other part wanted to escape.

He looked over himself. His upper body was flecked and splattered with blood, he had dozens of gashes and cuts, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off the pain was beginning to get to him.

Quickly deciding, Soloman smashed the manhole cover with his axe, and leapt down the hole into the sewers. He needed to get that daemon's words back to Slaanesh and Nurgle. Tzeentch was planning something, and they would remain oblivious unless he warned them of the danger they were facing.

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** With the end of this chapter upon us, will Soloman be able to alert everyone to Tzeentch's evildoings? Chapter 21 may answer that question, but until then, I'll leave you readers to decide.

P.S. For all those who want Soloman to be more brutal and carnal: Soloman will get more moments of violence, and a carnal moment, but not yet.


	21. A trip down sewer lane

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 21: A trip down sewer lane

* * *

With the splashes echoing around the tunnels, Soloman had no idea whether the insane scene he'd just witnessed 5 minutes ago was still going or not. Now he was calming down, he was trying to work out what on Terra had happened.

Or at least he would if he could concentrate long enough. The stench of chaotic sewage was so overwhelming it was like hitting a brick wall, and it kept breaking his trail of thought.

Once again Soloman wondered whether some God of torment and mischief was screwing up his life for some freak show comedy. 40 minutes ago, he'd had a poisoned daemon die in front of him. 25 minutes ago he'd found himself in a city-wide riot of crazy daemons. And now here he was, running blindly down a pitch black tunnel with only the odd shaft of light from the streets above him, ankle-deep in what he could only assume was the chaotic equivalent of sewage. That in itself was unpleasant, to put it mildly: a pus-filled river full of bones and decomposing limbs. At one point he had jumped over a rotting corpse, scattering the bloated, sore-covered rats that had been feasting on it.

But then he didn't have much choice. It was either this, or return to the surface and hack his way through possibly an entire city of crazy daemons.

_Yes. The daemons. What exactly happened back there?_

Soloman tried to concentrate on what had happened. That daemon bent over, black blotches on his arms, suddenly attacking his companions, that shopkeeper slamming a customer's head into a wall, the daemonette clawing her friend's face, that other daemonette biting into his arm.....

That particular thought made the pain in his arm throb, and he nearly lost his concentration yet again.

Then he suddenly remembered the poisoned daemon's words- 'Even now our success runs through the water'. _Is that the reason for what happened? Was it drinking the water contaminated by this.... success the reason for the reactions of the daemons? But what is it, and what does it do?_

_The water....._

_Oh God-Emperor the water._

_If all the cities are somehow connected to the same water supply, then there's nothing stopping this happening in the other cities! Dozens of daemons will die! What just happened: that must have been a field test, to see if it could help in Tzeentch's plan to regain superiority. God-Emperor, he'll have weakened all of his enemies without any of his soldiers dying!_

_Well, that settles it. The other Gods have to know what's happening. Maybe they can work out a way to counter the water, or perhaps-_

Soloman's thoughts were again disturbed. Only this time, it was by feral growls and splashing water somewhere behind him. It seemed that some of the crazed daemons had found a way into the sewers, and were now following him, perhaps by smell, perhaps by his own feet splashing.

_Great. Now I have to outrun some psychos._

With a snort of annoyance, he picked up the pace, making himself run even faster.

5 minutes later, and the growls were still there: the daemons were clearly keeping pace with him.

10 minutes later....

Half an hour later....

2 hours later, and still they kept pace.

Soloman was now in serious trouble. Though he could push himself by using his arm wounds as a source for anger, it wasn't enough to make a real difference. It gave him short bursts of extra speed for a few minutes only. Meanwhile whatever had made the daemons crazy seemed to be energising them too, or at least blocking out any pain and fatigue. They were at best keeping pace with him, at worse catching up. It wasn't a question of if they caught him, it was a question of when.

Cursing Tzeentch with every swear-word he knew, Soloman rounded yet another corner.

Only this time, he found himself running into bright light. After a few seconds of stumbling blind, his eyes regained focus, and he stopped to look around.

He was still in the sewers, that much was obvious due to the curved ceiling above him. The chamber he had run into seemed to be some sort of central drain, for several tunnels ran along its walls, the water flowing into the centre where it went down what was, for all intent and purpose, a plughole. On the far side of the chamber was a metal ramp, which ran up to a large metal balcony that ran around the edge of the chamber and above the floor.

What caught Soloman's attention was that up along the balcony was a large, white, glowing portal, which was the source of the light. At its centre was........ some sort of image. It looked like-

The cliff edge. The very same cliff edge Soloman had found himself on when he'd first been tossed into this realm. This was clearly some sort of portal to get there.

_And a way to escape._

He ran as fast as he could around the plughole, leaping over each little river of sewage. As he ran up the ramp, he saw out of the corner of his eye the crazed daemons -3 of them- run into the room, pounding along on all fours like wolves. But this time Soloman had the advantage. There was enough distance between him and them for him to safely reach the portal and escape: he'd be able to disappear in the crystal forest by the time they made it up the ramp.

Unfortunately, no-one had bothered to explain this to the daemons. Just as Soloman covered the last few hundred metres to the portal, one of the daemons launched itself up into the air, over the railing, and straight into his shoulder, sending them both crashing into the wall. Soloman barely had time to register this before the crazed daemon started clawing at him. He raised his hand to protect his face, and yelled as he felt its broken fingernails cut into his skin.

_Oh no you don't buddy! I didn't fight and run my way here for you to stop me now!_

Anger once more filling him, Soloman slammed his knee up into the daemon's stomach.

The daemon winched and hissed, stopping its attack for a split second.

_Big mistake._

Reaching to his belt, Soloman grasped his axe by its head. Without waiting to get a proper grip, he stabbed it forwards handle first. Fresh blood splattered over the dried on his arms and torso as it went right through the daemon's throat. It was dead within a moment, its body falling backwards off the handle.

Soloman tried to pull himself to his feet as quick as he could, but rapidly-closing growls told him he wouldn't reach the portal before the other two daemons reached him. Grasping his axe with both hands, he turned to face them, intend on killing them.

Both daemons, driven by the same madness as their dead companion, simple leapt at him, clawed fingers reaching out for him, one after another. The first one he killed with a sweeping stroke that ripped through its torso and cut it in two across the middle. He continued the motion, spinning on the spot to swing the axe around again.

But that Chaos God of torment screwing his life had other ideas. The second stroke did kill the daemon via decapitation, but its dead body still barrelled forwards, slamming him down a second time, except this time it was into the railing.

If he hadn't already guessed that the railing would break under the weight of him and the headless daemon corpse, the loud crack that followed confirmed it.

Before he could cry out, Soloman toppled into the sewage with a splash and was flung down the plughole, and into darkness.

* * *

It was the sudden jerk of his leg that awoke him. A tight, painful tug, like something was dragging his by the leg. His eyes opened to an explosion of green sewage, his ears thumping, his lungs suddenly screaming for air. He tried to drag himself away from whatever was pulling him, but its grip was strong, and was dragging him down. Then he realised he had no sense of direction: he didn't know if he was being dragged up, down, or sideways.

The answer came when he felt himself break the surface, spluttering as he was carried up, only to stop and be left dangling a few centimetres above the water, his eyes screwed up tight and his nose reeling in protest as it finally picked up the smell of the sewage again, except this time after being submerged in the stuff it was many times worse.

"Well now, call me picky, but I came out here to catch fish, not Blood Gods."

Soloman's eyes sprang open at that point. _That voice: I know that voice._

Looking straight up, he saw that his leg was tightly wrapped by a length of fishing line, the hook caught in the material of his shorts. He followed the length of line up, then along the large metal fishing pole, and found himself staring at the massive form of Nurgle.

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** First a crazed riot, then a chase through sewers, and finally being caught like a fish: not exactly what one would call a good day now would they?

Oh well, at least Soloman can now warn Nurgle of the dangers ahead. But that'll have to wait until Chapter 22.

P.S. About the updates: I have said I'll try to update every Sunday. Please be aware that, depending on what else has happened during the week, I may post the update on Sunday morning, afternoon, evening, or on the odd occasion Saturday evening. I say this because a look at my story's viewer traffic shows most people checking it on Sunday morning, and I don't want them to be disappointed.


	22. When trouble comes home

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 22: When trouble comes home

"Well now, this is an interesting story, no doubt about that," mused Nurgle, one hand cupped under his chin as he contemplated.

"Interesting is not the word I would use," muttered Soloman under his breath as he tried, unsuccessfully to dry himself off with an old towel Nurgle had on board the wooden rowing boat he had be using to fish. Why he was fishing on a sewer outlet was a question Soloman decided he'd rather not have an answer for "And I think some sort of sewer creature tired to chew on my feet."

"That's understandable," Nurgle replied. "Even for us Gods, getting caught up in a city-wide riot, then having to travel by sewer, is a rare occurrence."

"I would hope so," Soloman continued. "The only good to come out of it so far is that my nose is no longer working, so at least I don't have to smell the sewer anymore. Uh no offense" he added quickly, as he remembered exactly who he was talking to.

"None taken. Although between you and me, I'd bottle some of this and keep it as cologne. I know a number of daemonettes in my city who'd find you very attractive with your current smell."

"Oh shut up."

Nurgle just chuckled, then put on a straight face. "So, Tzeentch is nurturing dreams of realm domination, is he? Well, I can't say I'm surprised: that overgrown canary always did believe his intellect made him superior."

"Maybe so Nurgle, but this time he's got potentially every daemonic citizen on his side. If all of the cities are connected to the same water supply, every citizen will be at risk, and if they drink the contaminated water, they'll turn into raving mad animals and attack the nearest person to them."

Nurgle shook his head. "That's just typical Tzeentch, striking from the shadows and through third parties rather than face to face like a man. As for the water, you need not worry for now."

Soloman sighed with relief. "God-Emperor be prai- wait, what do you mean 'for now'?"

Nurgle explained: "All the water in this realm flows in a cycle, from a single source, through a filter, then it flows to each city, where it passes through another filter, through the city for use, and then through a portal that takes it back to the initial source. Since the riot only took place within Tzeentch's city, he must have only contaminated his filter. So for now, we're fine. But if he were to contaminate the initial filter, then we'd all be up sh*t creek. But I doubt that'll happen."

"Why's that?"

Nurgle smiled. "Simple. No-one knows where the initial source and filter are. Their location was lost millennia ago."

"That's it? That's your reason? What's to stop them just following the river?"

"Because for all their immortality, most daemons are not good at being patient. What little information we still have on the initial source and filter suggest that they are at the centre of labyrinth after labyrinth of tunnels. It would take 10-thousand millennia, if not longer, to get there."

Seeing that Soloman was still unconvinced, Nurgle placed his hand on Soloman's shoulder, which nearly caused Soloman to crash through the bottom of the boat. "Look, buddy, just relax. I'll send some of my people to guard the river entrance in my city, and I'll send a few Chaos Undivided friends to investigate the tunnel in the Undivided and Tzeentch's cities. You just go home, get some Bloodletters to guard the river entrance in your city, and calm down. If Tzeentch wants to get to the initial filter, he'll have to expose himself. Now then, here's a spare fishing rod: just relax, and let's fish."

* * *

When Soloman got home, it was with a decent haul of sewer fish, though to be honest he highly doubted that anyone not from Nurgle's city would be able to eat it. Or want to, for that matter. Still, at least Blud an' Gutz would be entertained for a while.

Though he was trying to remain calm, inside Soloman was still very uneasy. Despite Nurgle's constant assurances that things would be all right, the fact remained that, though they were more human-like than one would expect, these were Chaos Gods they were talking about: powerful daemons, existing outside of time and space. With them, anything was possible.

He shook his head as if hoping to dislodge all his worries. After all, he couldn't do anything this instant. And besides, he was assuming that the riot resulting from the contaminated water was the effect that Tzeentch had desired: it could be a complete failure, and a second attempt had to be made. Plus, having only tested it mere hours ago, it was highly unlikely Tzeentch was going to do anything tonight anyway. With such thoughts, Soloman began to relax a little, and turned his mind to more immediate concerns. As he passed through the archway into his home, he vaguely recalled wanting paint-remover and a ladder to remove some symbol Slaanesh and Zeena had placed on it. Mind you, what with them having conducted the second interviews for servants, he could get one of the new staff to do it. Assuming of course that Slaanesh and Zeena had scared them all off, or eaten them, or something daft like that.

_And speaking of Slaanesh and Zeena, where are they?_

Only did he realise that neither of them had come and given their usual cheery greeting and hug. And secondly, if they had employed some staff, why was the place so quiet? They could both be out, but he would have thought that they'd leave a note or something.

It was as he thought of this that he noticed three barrels shoved into a corner of the entrance lobby, on top of which was a note.

_Ah that'll be their note. But what's with the barrels?_

Crossing over to the corner, he picked up the note and read it. It was a payment slip, informing him that 5 barrels of water had been delivered here, where upon they'd been signed and paid for by-

Soloman dropped the note. Horror paralysed him for a split-second, then he grabbed one barrel and ripped its lid off, staring at the contents.

There was nothing to imply that it was perfectly normal water, but Soloman just knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this water was contaminated.

A second wave of horror hit him as his brain alerted him to the simple mathematical fact that 5 barrels were paid for, only 3 were here, and 5 – 3 = 2: in this case, two missing barrels.

Dropping the sewer fish to the floor, Soloman sprinted along towards the Skull Throne room, terrified as to what he would find. The fact that he was a servant of the God-Emperor, and so their deaths were a good thing, failed to register in his brain.

(**Typicalteenager:** In fact, the few Inquisitors who have studied Soloman's life as a Chaos God theorise that, having spent so long in the realm of Chaos, he was by this point suffering from the daemonic equivalent of Stockholm's Syndrome, but that's a discussion for another time.)

Upon reaching the doors to the Skull Throne, he simply rammed them open, shoulder first, and skidded to a halt inside, before slipping over and landing flat on his back.

The reason for this became clear as he looked around.

All around him was the bodies of those applicants he and Mortraz had offered a second interview to. All of them had had their hands arched like claws, and their eyes had turned to sunken black orbs that no light could penetrate. Cuts covered them, and most had a limb or two ripped off. Pools of blood surrounded each of them, and this was what he had slipped on, for there was so much that the entire floor was covered in a congealed red layer. Next to a table and chair on the far side of the room stood one of the two missing barrels.

It was a mark of how much Soloman had thus far acclimatised that, instead of staining his pants brown and emitting a high-pitched scream like a normal person would have done, he simply thought _Well I'm not f***ing cleaning this up_. His earlier horrors seemed forgotten.

As he picked himself of the floor, he became aware of off-key singing coming from outside the room. Realising that Slaanesh, Zeena, and Blud an' Gutz (and now that he thought about it, Mortraz too) were not in the room, he walked back out and tried to follow the singing. It seemed to be coming from the corridor that led to the kitchen. Passing down towards the source, he entered the dining room adjacent to the kitchen.

There he found three of his four- well, friends, for lack of a better word. Zeena was sitting in a chair, slumped forwards with her forehead touching the table. Blud an' Gutz was lying face down on the floor, a small crater around him implying that he'd simply keeled over. And Mortraz? He had – God-Emperor knows how – managed to end up on top of the bleached bone chandelier, hanging by his hot-pants.

It brought Soloman some relief to see that all three of them seemed to be fast asleep, and devoid of any injuries.

The singing started afresh, reminding Soloman that only 3 of his 4 'friends' were accounted for, and that by process of elimination, the singer was Slaanesh. Walking around the edge of the room, he slipped into the kitchen.

He just had time to register that the final barrel sat in the middle of the kitchen before a scream of "SOLOMAN!" shattered his ear-drums, and a lump of violet knocked him backwards onto the floor, squeezing all the air out of his lungs. Wheezing, Soloman looked up and found himself staring right into Slaanesh's face.

"Slaanesh," he gasped (not out of shock but out of breath), "What happened here? Did you lot drink the water? If so, why did the applicants go crazy while those three there are only asleep, and why..."

He trailed off as he found Slaanesh was staring at him with a big smile and vague eyes.

"...why..."

Realising that he couldn't feel the cool daemetal of her bra, Soloman looked over Slaanesh's shoulder, and saw along the length of her back right down to her bum.

Her bare, uncovered back and bum.

"...WHY ARE YOU BL**DY NAKED?"

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** I am SO, SO sorry everyone. One moment it looks like I got a busy week or two so the fanfiction has to be put on hold, and then the next thing I know it's been about 2 months since my last update! Argh! To make things worse, the busy times are still here, and I'm probably not going to be able to update again until early July! Crap.

However, I've grabbed a spare moment to write up and post this chapter, partly to avoiding a fanfic lynch mob (I can see the glint of narrative pitchforks from here), and also to let people know that I haven't forgotten about you or this fanfiction: I'm just had to put it on the backburner for a while.

I'll be waiting for you in July!


	23. Personal complications

.

OH.

MY.

GOD-EMPEROR.

.

.

It's happened.

It's actually happened.

After exactly one year of silence, I've actually returned to this story (if you can call it that).

.

.

Ladies and Gentlemen, for better or for worse, typicalteenager and Soloman the Blood God are back.

May the God-Emperor have mercy on us all.

* * *

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 23: Personal complications

* * *

It took about 10 minutes for Slaanesh, having ignored Soloman's outburst and simply continued to hug him tight, whilst giving him that vague but happy expression, to make Soloman feel uncomfortable. The whole 'being naked' thing wasn't helping either.

"Um... Slaanesh?"

This time Slaanesh tilted her head and answered in a long, baby tone "Yeeeeeeessssss?"

"You... you never answered my question."

"What question's that, sweetheart?"

"Well, why are you naked?"

"Am I?" Slaanesh raised an eyebrow in confusion, and looked down at herself, before her puzzled look cleared up. "Oh that's right: it was getting too cold, so I took them off to warm up."

"Oh okay" replied Soloman. Then the lack of sense hit him. "Hang on, don't you mean it was too hot, so you took your clothes off to cool down?"

"No, the green eagle told me that I was right."

"...Green eagle?"

"Well... actually, it might have been a razor wire fence." Slaanesh's smile grew wider and even more vague.

"Oooooookaaaaaay... first, please get off me, and then why don't you tell me what happened whilst I was gone?"

"Okay" retorted Slaanesh, as she climbed off him and lay on her back on the floor, showing off her body.

Soloman flushed red, torn between the guilt that she wasn't in a right state of mind, and the rush of hormones as he saw just how hot she was. He shook his head as he tried to force himself to focus.

Slaanesh, oblivious to this, pursed her lips as she tried to remember what had happened. "Let's see... well, we were just about to start the second interviews to get rid of all those boyfriend-snatchers-"

"What?"

"-When that order of water arrived. We signed for it, then... oh yes, Mortraz convinced me that those man-stealing tarts deserved a drink-"

"I'm guessing that you didn't like the daemonettes that applied to be maids."

"-So we started handing out the drinks. But then everyone started acting weird, so Mortraz asked me to go check the water. I went back, grabbed a second barrel, and rolled it into the kitchen. Zeena and Blud an' Gutz were there, and they grabbed a drink along with me."

As she'd been saying all this, Slaanesh's expression had steadily returned to one of sanity, but now the vague smile returned as she gleefully said "And then the imperial clock struck!"

"We don't have an imperial clock."

"Yes we do: it was swimming along the floor, next to the tau bronze band. Immediately after a grox crashed through the window- or was it a horse with scales stapled to it?"

"How much of this water did you drink?"

"The levitating data-slates made the room go technicolour, and then a necron melted through the wall, changed into 3 mouthed version of my Eldar mother, sang 'the Emperor's Litany of accuracy' and then atomised into a fog cloud. And finally you showed up."

Slaanesh was at this point beaming the smile of a deranged mass murderer who's about to bring out a chain-sword, and Soloman was now seriously worried about her long-term sanity. He was just wondering if there was the daemon equivalent of a mental health clinic when Slaanesh unsteadily got up onto her feet and began to zigzag groggily towards the barrel.

"No! Don't drink anymore of that!" he cried, racing after her. She had just picked up a jug to scoop up some water when he knocked it out of her hand.

Slaanesh turned to him, still smiling vaguely. "Relax sweetheart: I wasn't going to drink it. I was going to give it to you to drink." She picked up the jug, refilled it, and offered it to him. "Here, have a sip."

"No thank you Slaanesh, that stuff is dangerous."

"Aw come on sweetheart."

"Given what's in it, I didn't want to before I returned here, and the experience you just described merely furthers my refusal."

Slaanesh took his hand in her own, and gave him puppy eyes. "Please?"

She performed it so well that Soloman actually took the jug and had it halfway to his mouth before he stopped himself. "Look, Slaanesh, you're not in your right state of mind: this water is contamin-"

He never got to finish his sentence because Slaanesh moaned "Just take a drink already!" and tried to shove the jug into his face. The result was that she tilted the jug over and the water splashed over his arms and torso. Groaning in complaint, Soloman looked around for a towel.

Except he didn't need one. He suddenly realised that he already felt dry, and he looked down himself in time to see the water absorbed through his skin.

_Oh sh*t._

He turned to Slaanesh to yell at her, except that she'd disappeared. He glanced around the entire kitchen, but couldn't see her. It didn't help that the room suddenly seemed to have doubled in size. _And since when was the room a magenta colour?_ He turned to ask the tyranid-headed tau as it rolled by on its ork war-buggy, but it just spat ice at his feet and went on its way.

Coming to the conclusion that the water was having the same effect on him as if he had drunk it, Soloman staggered out of the kitchen and through the dining room into the corridor. It wasn't helped by the fact that the doorways kept spinning around the walls and ceiling. He knew he needed to find help, but as all the usual help were passed out in the dining room, he needed to find some sort of communication system.

_That disembodied voice! Maybe it can help me! ...But how do I contact him?_

_Hello?_

_Disembodied voice?_

_Yo, lend me a hand here!_

Nothing happened.

_Aw f*** it,_ thought Soloman as insanity claimed him, and he collapsed up onto the ceiling, narrowly avoiding the brass catachan devil scuttling by.

The last thing he remembered was something small and warm circling along his chest.

* * *

_Oh God-Emperor, my head... what happened?_

_The water... oh f***, that bl**dy water._

_Where the heck am I?_

He put his right hand down next to him, and felt something soft and cotton-like, edged with something hard and brittle. His bed: he had to be in his bed. _Thank the God-Emperor nothing horrendous happened whilst I was blitzed out of my skull._ He relaxed, enjoying the comfort of the blanket over his bare body, and the warmth of the person cuddled up next to him.

He snuggled back and sighed.

The alarm clock ticked away the seconds.

Soloman's brain caught up with his senses to inform him that a) he was naked under the bed-sheet, and b) there was something else in the bed with him.

He forced himself to turn his head and look to his side.

"AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!"

* * *

Blud an' Gutz woke with a groan. "Owwww... whatz makin' that horri-bull scream?"

"Well, judging by the tone, pitch, and length," muttered a semi-conscious Mortraz, who was still hanging by his pants from the bone-bleached chandelier, "I'd say our little beef-cake has just realised that he spent a night of passion with someone."

Blud an' Gutz just groaned again, then looked around and said "Were'z Slaanesh?"

At this, Zeena's head promptly appeared from behind the dining table like a bullet. "What did you just say?"

* * *

It was a very subdued group that sat outside the dining room half an hour later, consisting of an Ork with a horrendous headache, a very pissed off purple daemonette who looked ready to commit murder, and a Blood God torn between shock and mild anguish.

Mortraz was inside the dining room, along with Slaanesh. It seemed that Mortraz had a degree in doctoring, and so was examining everyone for any additional effects or physical damage inflicted by the contaminated water: Zeena, Soloman and Blud an' Gutz had already been checked.

At that moment, Mortraz came out of the room, looking tired and pale, along with Slaanesh. The fact that she was grinning broadly set alarm bells ringing in Soloman's head and made Zeena's face, if possible, even more murderous.

"Well I have three pieces of good news," announced Mortraz, with as much gusto as an effeminate daemon could manage with a hang-over and a mouth drier than a desert planet.

"And this good news is..." Soloman queried.

"Well, good news no. 1: there seems to be no permanent damage from drinking that contaminated water."

A weary cheer from ork, daemonette, and blood god filled the air.

"Secondly, I think I have found the specific component that causes the violent behaviour in ordinary daemons, and so can potentially create a counter potion."

A much heartier cheer came from everyone, only for it to be succeeded by Soloman's look of confusion as he asked "Wait: how does a doctor create a counter potion? Isn't that a chemist's job?"

"Yes, beef-cake, but it just so happens that I also have a degree in biological chemistry as well."

"O-kaaaaayyyyy..., and the third bit of news?"

"What? Oh nothing important," muttered Mortraz, sweeping the idea away as if it was a fly. "You're just going to be a father of eight."

...

...

... a tumbleweed fluttered across the bombarded wasteland that Soloman's mind had just become.

"I'm... I'm sorry, but you could you repeat that please?"

"I said 'What? Oh nothing important, you're just going to be a father of eight'," Mortraz explained casually.

Then he noticed that Soloman had disappeared. "Um, where's beef-cake gone?"

Blud an' Gutz, who was looking at the floor, answered "Da boss? E's on da floor. I 'is guessin' by the redness ov 'is chest that 'is heart just xplo-dead..."


	24. Daemonette Trouble

.

**Typicalteenager:** I have a lot of updates to catch up on.

So what better way to start than with uploading two chapters in one day!

Hope this tides you over until Chapter 26!

.

* * *

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 24: Daemonette trouble

* * *

It was with a great deal of stabbing pain that Soloman returned to the land of the conscious. Indeed his first actions were to clutch his chest and let out a loud groan.

"Oh good sweetheart, you awake."

Looking around, Soloman found himself once again lying on his bed, with Slaanesh sitting in an armchair, smiling at him.

"Oh God-Emperor my chest," moaned Soloman, leaning up onto one elbow. "What happened? Why am I back on my bed?" he asked Slaanesh, and then upon seeing her, "And when did you put on such weight?"

Walking over to sit on the bed next to him, she replied "Well, in order: your heart exploded, your bed acted as an impromptu operating table whilst Blud an' Gutz replaced your heart, and this sudden weight gain is from carrying your eight kids.

"My eight... Oh f***!" Soloman slumped back on the bed, feeling confused and depressed. Sighing, he continued "All right then, next set of questions: what did Blud an' Gutz replace my heart with, and since Mortraz has a degree in doctoring then why didn't he perform the surgery?"

"Well, again in order: he replaced it with a heart he had in the larder for a future meal, and Mortraz had to rush off somewhere, since there is apparently an emergency that requires his aid."

Soloman let out another depressed sigh.

Slaanesh stroked his hair back. "Aw come on sweetheart, it's not all bad." Her face split into a grin. "You weren't complaining last night when you were running your tongue over my-"

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa," Soloman cried hastily. "I can just about accept that I slept with you and knocked you up. That does NOT mean that I want details." He sat up next to her and composed himself.

Slaanesh leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. "Why so down, sweetheart? Don't you want to be a daddy?"

Soloman wrapped his arm over her shoulder, glancing down apprehensively at her swollen belly. "Well... yeah, I guess... but I planned to do so when I had... I don't know, a stable military staff job, an upper-class home, decent earnings: I certainly didn't plan for it to happen after a night of passion with the Chaos Goddess of Pleasure whilst under the influence of contaminated water."

"And that makes it wrong somehow?" retorted Slaanesh, looking a little put-out.

"Well no," Soloman hastily continued, looking her in the face. "It's just unexpected, that's all." She didn't look entirely convinced, so he added "Besides, you really have that beautiful pregnant glow."

She perked up at this. "I do?"

"Oh yes: in fact, though I can't believe it, you seem even more gorgeous."

Slaanesh smiled at what she must have known to be obvious flattery, rubbing her hand over her belly.

Looking at her, Soloman found himself amused as his mind conjured up images of Slaanesh acting like a mother: spoon-feeding the baby, taking it on play-dates, changing its nappies –_do daemons wear nappies?_-, and of course, showing it off to all her friends, like Mortraz and Ze-

"Oh God-Emperor," he moaned, placing his head in his hands.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

Soloman sighed. "Zeena. She must be so pissed off right now. Slaanesh, what am I going to do?"

Slaanesh replied in a heartbeat "Well you could always kill her."

Soloman shook his head. "Too messy: she'd squirm the whole time and spray blood everywhere." Then he looked up at Slaanesh's face. "Oh wait, you're serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Whatever happened to you two getting along?"

"Sweetheart, we're daemonettes: being b*tches to each other is part of the job."

Soloman rolled his eyes wearily. "Never mind. I guess I'll have to go to her and 'wing it'."

Slaanesh looked confused. "Wing it?"

"It means I'll go to her, say what I think sounds good and pray I succeed."

"Oh. Well please be careful sweetheart. I don't want to be here this time next week telling our first-born that daddy died at the hands of their angry godmother."

"I'll do my best not to... wait, godmother? So you and Zeena will be actively trying to murder each other, yet you'll also make her your kids' godmother?"

"Like I said, part of the job."

Soloman muttered something about 'sheer madness' under his breath, and went off to find Zeena.

* * *

"Come on, Zeena: please let me in?"

"F*** no, you piece of trash."

"Look, I just want to talk."

"We've got nothing to talk about."

Soloman sighed and held his head in one hand. This wasn't going anything like he'd planned. He'd found Zeena fast enough, locked in her room, but she refused to open the door. The result was he had spent the last 10 minutes trying to convince her to let him in by talking at the door, but getting blunt statements in response.

"Zeena, please. I'm trying to do the right thing here."

"You didn't do the right thing when you slept with that filthy skank. As far as I'm concerned, we're through."

"Oh God-Emperor Zeena. What have I got to do, bed you as well?"

A moment's silence. Then... "Really?"

Soloman groaned. _Why the f*** did I say that? I would never... but then, if that's the only way... aw crap..._ "Yes, if that's what you want."

"Hmm... well, in that case..." Zeena pondered for a moment. Then her voice became harsh again. "No: it wouldn't stop me seeing that slut's fat belly."

Now Soloman was beginning to lose patience. _For f***'s sake, I swear I'll-_

_Wait..._ he suddenly remembered how the last time he'd been angry with Zeena and Slaanesh, they had ended up being aroused and attracted to him. Could he repeat that here: use his anger to make her forgive him? _Only one way to find out._

"Well then Zeena," he said, in what he hoped was a threatening voice, "I guess I'll just have to break the door down."

"You what?"

"You've got until 3."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"1!"

"Honey, if you do-"

"2!"

"Now hang on a minute-"

"3!" Tilting to the side, Soloman charged forward, shoulder first, with every intention of ramming the door open.

* * *

With the way his life had been f***ed with so far, Soloman was no longer surprised at the fact that things often went up s**t-creek, just at how they did. This meant that, upon hearing Zeena yell "Fine!" and seeing her open the door, all he thought was _typical._ And although it hurt, he was relatively calm when he charged through the open doorway, past Zeena, onto the balcony adjacent to the bedroom, smashing through the railings and fell down into some sort of large black thorn bush.

The part that did irritate him was Zeena crying with laughter on the balcony, clutching her ribs.

_Well at least she'll be in the mood for talking to me._

Zeena began to calm down. "Thanks honey. That was a welcome incident. But..." she continued, her face becoming serious again, "that doesn't mean I forgive you."

Soloman moaned as he crawled out of the bush, picking thorns out of his arms. "Oh come on Zeena. I get violated by Slaanesh whilst hallucinating from contaminated water, and I'm somehow to blame?"

"I don't care how- Wait, what did you say?"

"I wasn't in my normal state of mind when she nabbed me."

Zeena's face was now one of slow realisation. "You weren't?"

"No! Do you think I would sleep with any- with her in my normal state of mind?" He had nearly said 'anyone', but stopped himself since he was pretty sure that word would make things worse.

"But that would mean..." Zeena looked at Soloman with confusion, and then jumped down from the balcony, landing next to him, kissed him on the cheek, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she hugged him.

"Oh honey," she said, sounding quite upset, "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Forgive you?"

"All this time I assumed you chose to bed that whore, when in fact you were the victim. And to think that I nearly ended our relationship- oh honey."

"Um... that's alright Zeena, I forgive you."

"Oh thank you, honey!" Zeena cried, planting a dozen kisses on his cheek and forehead, making him go scarlet. "No then," she continued with a smile, "if you don't mind, I'm off to beat the crap out of that little tart."

"Oh okay... wait, what?"

But Zeena had already wandered off towards the entrance of the keep.

Soloman was about to set off in pursuit when he heard Blud an' Gutz's voice echoing from within the keep.

"Bosssss! Bosssss! Some-won'z here to see you!"

_Aw what now?_

With a sigh, Soloman yelled out "Zeena, please don't kill Slaanesh: she's carrying my kids!", and set off to find Blud an' Gutz.


	25. Another injury for the collection

.

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 25: Another injury for the collection

* * *

It took about 10 minutes for Soloman to make his way around the outside of the keep and back into the entrance hall. It would have only taken 5, but he was going slowly so as to listen out for any noises, especially ones of Zeena killing Slaanesh. He was unsure whether the fact that he hadn't heard any was good or bad.

Upon entering the entrance hall, he found Blud an' Gutz standing there, talking to a bloodletter. Though it had its back facing him, its skin, which was less like the usual red and closer to crimson, seemed somehow familiar to him...

"Ah, there you is, boss. What took ya so long?"

"Trouble with the daemonettes: need I say more?"

Blud an' Gutz nodded knowingly. "Well, anyway boss, this dae-man here sayz he needz to see you about some-fing important. Won't say wat to me, sayz he'll on-lee talk to you."

"I see... well then, Blud an' Gutz, you can go off and do... whatever it is you do in your spare time."

"You gotz it, boss," Blud an' Gutz replied, and he stomped off towards the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood drops in his wake.

With his departure, the bloodletter turned to face Soloman. Apart from his skin colour, he was no different in appearance to any other bloodletter, and yet Soloman couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen this daemon somewhere before.

"Well now," he began, "what's this important thing you want to see me abo-?"

He was unable to finish the sentence because the bloodletter suddenly pulled out a large chaos space marine bolter gun with some sort of homemade silencer, aimed it rapidly at his torso, and pulled the trigger. Soloman was sent flying backwards off his feet across the room, landing sprawled out on the floor, with an entrance and exit wound the size of a dinner tray where his left lung had formerly been.

And the pain: he'd felt more than his fair share of pain over his short period as the Blood God, but this was the worse yet. It felt as though he'd been crotch-kicked by a carnifex and then tossed into an acid bath. It was so bad that he found that though his mouth was open in a scream, no sound came out.

(**Typicalteenager:** In fact, Soloman was screaming, but in a pitch so high no living creature could hear it. It is worth pointing out that his scream was responsible for the extinction of one of the higher planes of existence, where it caused the brains of every being on that plane to be reduced to jelly and seep out of their ears. Thus the notoriety of the Blood God increased further.)

The bloodletter walked up to his prone form, and aimed the bolter at his head.

"You may be the Blood God now, you pathetic maggot," he growled venomously, "but I assure you that even the greatest of healing powers will have to take weeks to cure being brain dead, and that's exactly what you're going to be if you don't do as I say." His voice had a posh, almost regal tone, the sort you would expect from a butler, or-

And then Soloman remembered where he'd seen and heard this bloodletter before. It had been at his first meeting with Khorne, where this daemon had read out challenge rules from a scroll.

"...Alix..." he spluttered out, blood flecks flying from his mouth.

The bloodletter gave a dark grin. "Ah, so you remember me. Well then, I won't waste time with the cliché vengeance speech. Now, this is very simple: I'm going to ask you a question –just one question- and you're going to give to either answer me, or be sucking next month's meals through a straw."

He knelt down next to Soloman, and pressed the bolter gun against his forehead. "Now, the question is as follows: where's my master?"

Now Soloman was confused. "What?"

"Where is the old Khorne?"

"How should I know?"

Alix pushed the gun harder against Soloman's forehead. "Wrong answer worm."

"Wrong answer?" Soloman gasped out. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

Alix clicked the gun back, ready to fire. "Lying isn't going to get you out of this."

"I'm- I'm not lying," Soloman wheezed, blood now running out of his mouth freely and making speech more difficult. "The last I saw of Khorne was when Mortraz... banished him, or something like that. Ask him where Khorne is, he'll know."

Alix sneered at this suggestion. "Nice try, human. Only I've already gone looking for that pansy, and he's been missing for a day now. Probably sent by you to the same place you sent my master."

"Wh- what? Mortraz is m-m-missing?" Soloman attempted to say, except he now had more blood on the floor than in his body, and he was barely maintaining consciousness.

"Let me guess- you didn't know about that either," Alix sneered. "Please. I've been manservant to a Chaos God for several millennia: do you think I would fall for such simple tricks?"

"Oh for f***'s – I. Don't. know. where. Khorne. is!" Soloman spat, one word at a time, his vision steadily going black, and his hearing making every sound echo.

Alix just shook his head, almost as if he felt sorry for what he thought was a poor attempt at deceit. "Pathetic," he muttered, staring at Soloman, though to the steadily dying Soloman it was now just a load of noise. "This must be the worst pack of lies ever told. How someone as weak and idiotic as you ever beat my master I will never-"

Soloman was unsure of what happened next, as his vision had narrowed hugely and gone blurry. Some strange noise suddenly roared through the air, and Alix suddenly stopped, something gold and orange appearing on his chest and then disappearing just as quickly. His head seemed to tilt to the right, something warm and wet seemed to fall from him and land on Soloman's waist, and he slumped forward and landed sprawled over Soloman. Something large and green appeared at the edge of his darkening vision, and uttered something, but Soloman never heard it, because at that moment what little blood remained in his body trickled out, and the world descended into a silent, black void.

* * *

_Whoever said that dying was a painless, calm, and peaceful process_, Soloman thought, _was either completely plastered, higher than a planet's atmosphere, or simply talking b*llocks._ For an indeterminable period of time, Soloman seemed to float in a massive ball of pain, vague images, memories, and sounds passing about him.

"Hang in there sweetheart: you've got to hang on, do you hear me?"

"Q-wik: get to me larder and nab all the meats and lic-wids, day-monz!"

"How did Alix get here? What did he want, Blud an' Gutz?"

"Ooooohhhhhhh... would this be a bad time to say that my belly is suddenly hurting really badly?"

Eventually though, the memories and images faded away, and the sounds became less frequent. For a short while, everything was still. And then slowly, sight and sound returned, and Soloman found himself staring at the dining-room ceiling, lying on the table, aching all over.

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww" he moaned.

"Boss! You're awake!"

Soloman forced himself to sit up, and turned to look at Blud an' Gutz. "Oh God-Emperor," he moaned. "What is this, 'murder the Blood God week'? What did you have to replace my lung with?"

Blud an' Gutz gave a toothy grin. "A tau's stomach, interwoven with that blood-letter's kidneys."

Soloman rolled his eyes. "Why didn't you use his lungs?"

"Well, they waz all pulped up by me chain-sword when I gutted him."

Soloman simply rolled his eyes again. "How long was I out?"

"A week, boss."

Climbing off the dining table, Soloman looked down at his chest, running his finger over the criss-cross of stitches that covered the left side of his torso. "Anything interesting happen whilst I was out?"

Blud an' Gutz stopped and thought about this, a dopey grin appearing on his voice as a result. "Um, yes, there was two fings. The first was that the day-mon ladies went out to look for that Mortraz, after I told them wat I heard dat Alix saying."

"I see. Am I then to assume that you were the one who saved me?"

Blud an' Gutz grinned further. "Yes boss. I took me chain-sword and I gutted him good."

"Well then, Blud an' Gutz, you have my thanks. Consider your wages tripled as of now."

The ork looked stunned for a moment, and then crossed over and gave Soloman a bone-crushing hug.

Soloman tentatively patted him on the back. "You're welcome" he wheezed. "Oh, by the way, what was the second thing?"

Blud an' Gutz, in response, gave yet another grin, let go of Soloman, and crossed the room to the door that led to the corridor. Opening it, he stuck his head out of the doorway, and yelled out "Arita!"

Soloman looked at him in confusion. "Arita? Who's Arita?"

Blud an' Gutz didn't respond, but simply went off into the kitchen. Meanwhile, the sound of someone running down the corridor came clearly to Soloman's ears. Curious, he went out into the corridor and turned to the right to look.

He was greeted with the brief image of a young human-looking girl with bubble-gum pink hair, barefoot, dressed in a white shirt and blue dungarees, running down the corridor towards him, before hearing a squeal of "DADDY!" and he found his legs suddenly being compressed in a very tight hug that rivalled Blud an' Gutz's in terms of bone-crushing power.

_Oh, you have got to be kidding me._


	26. On the hunt for an effeminate daemon

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 26: On the hunt for an effeminate daemon

* * *

"Now normally," Soloman began, with a weary expression, "I would ask how you were able to only give birth to one of our babies and remain pregnant with the other seven, but I'm pretty sure your answer would somehow further weaken my already strained sanity. So instead I'll ask: Why?"

Slaanesh, relaxing on a bench in the garden, looked at Soloman with surprise. "Well to ease the burden and pain of course. I mean come on," she continued, now looking amused, "can you imagine how torturous it would be to birth all eight kids at once? What kind of sad and pathetic race would do that?"

Soloman chose to ignore that last comment, partly because Slaanesh would just give him a pitying smile, and partly because Arita, who was still wrapped around one of his legs, was staring up at him.

"Mummy, why has Daddy got all those marks on him?" she asked, referring to the various scars and wounds that the Blood God had collected over his (currently) short reign.

"Well sweetie," answered Slaanesh, in that weird baby voice mothers use when talking to their baby and/or toddler, "there are some very bad people out there who are planning something evil, and your daddy is going to stop them and save the day."

Soloman wished he shared her confidence. "Maybe, if we can create that counter-potion, which we can't do if we can't find Mortraz. Are you sure you didn't see even the tiniest clue as to his whereabouts?"

Slaanesh shrugged. "I'm sorry sweetheart. I found nothing. But Zeena hasn't come back yet: maybe she'll have something."

"I hope so," replied Soloman, sitting down next to her, placing Arita on his lap. "Right now that potential potion of his may be our only way of preventing a realm-wide riot."

Arita looked confused. "But Daddy, you're a war god. Shouldn't you be happy at the idea of a riot? You'll get to crack some skulls."

Soloman sighed, holding his week-old daughter's hands in his own. "I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that sweetie. Cracking skulls is good fun, but it doesn't deal with the issue of Tzeentch."

Arita snorted. "That silly small-sausaged parrot? You could beat him easily."

Soloman smiled. "Well I appreciate your confidence in me swee- hang on a minute, 'small-sausaged'?"

Arita nodded. "That's what Mummy told me to say, but she said something different that she says I'm not allowed to repeat."

Soloman turned to glare at Slaanesh. "With all due respect my dear, do you think you could refrain from that kind of vocabulary around our little girl? We're going to get enough of that when she becomes a teenager."

Slaanesh shrugged. "I can't make any promises."

Soloman pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried to think what might have happened to Mortraz.

Suddenly his face lit up. "I've got it!"

Slaanesh went pale. "Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. You see, there was this nurgling girl back in college..."

She stopped when Soloman raised an eyebrow at her.

"...and you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Nope."

"In that case, I'll shut up."

Soloman rolled his eyes. "What I meant was that I have an idea about how we could find Mortraz."

Now it was Slaanesh's turn to raise an eyebrow. "What, just like that?"

"But of course Mummy" replied Arita brightly. "After all, you told me Daddy was really smart, remember?"

The Blood God looked at his daughter, and then back at Slaanesh.

"Flattery will get you nowhere..."

* * *

A few minutes later, Soloman was clinging tightly to Tiddles' collar as the pet Juggernaut charged through the streets of his city. Arita sat in his lap, her arms wrapped around her father's middle. He had tried to make her stay behind, but she'd given him the 'puppy-eyes' and quivering lip –no doubt taught to her by her mother- and he found himself unable to say no.

Soloman's idea was simple. Using a handkerchief Mortraz had lent to him once and forgotten to recollect, he was having Tiddles act as a sniffer dog, following the scent of the liberally-applied Lily of the Valley perfume the fluorescent-pink clad daemon wore.

It seemed to be working. At least, when Tiddles had smelt the handkerchief he had set off at once. This time, Soloman made sure he had a tight hold on the Juggernaut's collar: he hadn't forgotten the un-enjoyable experience of his first ride.

Soon, the Juggernaut had run through the city, out one of the gates, and dashed along the small strip of land between the outside of the city and the edge of the island before suddenly coming to a stop, letting out a metallic bark.

Climbing down from the Juggernaut's neck, and then lifting his daughter down onto the ground, Soloman looked around while Tiddles, tired after the run, lay down and started to doze.

The wall stood before him, white stones cracked, blackened, covered in spikes and blood. Behind him, the wind mourned quietly over the edge of the island. Nothing was present either side of him, except for the natural curve of the castle wall.

As far as he could tell, there was no reason for Tiddles to have stopped here, and yet that was exactly what the Juggernaut had done. So what was special about here? Had the trail run cold? Had Mortraz been tossed over the edge into the swirling yellow fog below?

It was Arita, with that sense of infinite curiosity all children possess, who found what they were looking for. "Daddy! Over here!"

Walking over to her, Soloman found her standing on a jutting out stone, her face staring into a large crack in the middle of a crater in the wall face.

Climbing onto the stone as well, Soloman also looked inside, only to find himself facing pitch blackness. However, something caught the edge of his vision, and he turned his head to left to see, caught between two rocks...

"A pink false toenail" he said aloud, whilst pondering why anyone would wear false toenails, given that their shoes -or in Mortraz's case, high heels- would cover them up. "Yep, Mortraz's has definitely been here. Now the question is: did he come here of his own free will, or was he forced?"

Arita, delighted to have helped out, clapped her hands together. "Well then what are we waiting for? Let's find out!" And before her father could stop her, she pulled herself into the crack, and walked away into the darkness.

"Arita! Arita! Come back here!" Soloman cried in vain.

She didn't answer.

Sighing, Soloman turned to Tiddles. "Go home. If we're not back in a few hours, bring Blud n' Gutz here."

Tiddles let out a soft bark.

Squeezing himself into the crack, Soloman, forced onto his hands and knees because he was so much bigger than his daughter, crawled into the pitch blackness after her, calling out to her.

"Arita? Sweetheart, we have to stay together. Daddy needs to keep you safe." _Your mother will castrate me if I don't..._

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** ...So... I return after a year, only to then not update for a few months...

...yeah...

...consider this a peace offering.


	27. Found: one Mortraz

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 27: Found: one Mortraz

* * *

_Faraday's Constant is the magnitude of electrical charge per mole of electrons..._

_Antidisestablishmentarianism is the ideology of opposing disestablishment, which is traditionally the separation of religion from government..._

_What kind of person once looked at a ham pizza, and said "You know what this needs? Pineapple"..._

_When you are stuck crawling through a thin, dark space within a city wall for an indeterminable length of time,_ Soloman noted to himself, _your mind does tend to wander off at varying tangents._

_Just another random fact of life._

There wasn't much else to do. He couldn't see anything, and he had been reduced to crawling on his belly and using his elbows since the constant scraping of his knees and hands on the rough surface of the floor had left them bloody and numb.

What concerned him most of all was that Arita, being small enough to walk along the 'tunnel', had charged ahead pretty much immediately, and he hadn't seen or heard any sign of her since. He was becoming very worried about her, though whether it was because she was his daughter, or because Slaanesh would kill him (quite literally, given his immortality), he didn't really know.

The thought made him wander what Slaanesh was doing right now.

The realisation of the most likely answer made him feel queasy, so he quickly thought about Blud an' Gutz instead. This only made him feel worse, given the unholy monstrosities that usually emerged from the Ork's kitchen.. He rapidly shut off his imagination before he could start thinking about Zeena.

Unfortunately, the queasy feeling not only remained, but became steadily worse.

Fortunately, he found a hole into which to be sick.

Unfortunately, he found said hole by falling into it.

* * *

Arita was having a thoroughly good time. It was the first time she had been able to play with her father, and so far she had got to ride the family Juggernaut, and go exploring in a secret tunnel inside the city wall.

_I hope I get to play with Daddy all the time: it'll be lots of fun._

Of course, being so young and cheerful, the idea that her Father was not finding this as enjoyable as she was never entered her head.

_Where Daddy is anyway. I know he's a bit fat for the tunnel, but he shouldn't be that slow. _

_I wonder if he fell into that hole. Maybe I should go back and-_

Her trail of thought was interrupted by her tripping over something. Picking herself up and dusting herself off, she looked down to see what it was.

_Oh wow!_ "Daddy! Look what I found!" _Oh wait, he's not here..._

* * *

Soloman wasn't sure what was worse: the fact that he'd landed face-first onto cobblestone after a two minute fall, or that what had been his breakfast had been slower and ended up splattered all over his back.

_Well, either way, at least there's light down here._

Ignoring that his nose was bent at a distinctly unnatural angle, he got up off the ground and took in his surroundings.

He appeared to be inside a passageway, except this one, though narrow, had clearly been built as such, as opposed to the 'tunnel' he had just been crawling through. The wall was made of black stone so smoothly cut it appeared to be one endless piece. The hole he had fallen from was a perfect circular vent in the ceiling, illuminated by the torches hanging from the metal fixtures on the wall, shedding light through the thick, dusty air, undisturbed until now. The whole thing looked more like something out of an inquisitional art-piece than anything daemonic.

(**Typicalteenager:** It should be noted that the Inquisition prohibits any artwork about its organisation apart from portraits of Inquisitors, in case traitors, anarchists, terrorists, and/or renegades attempt to work against them. Of course, the moment they made it illegal, the business boomed, and the artwork increased exponentially in value. The fact that Soloman can compare his location to the Inquisition suggests illicit dealings in his childhood.

...Unless of course he's just using his imagination, making the above information irrelevant.)

As there was no way back up the vent, he began to walk down the passageway, his footsteps echoing around him, and his feet kicking up the centuries of dust.

And there was still no sign of Arita. _Given how undisturbed the dust was, I guess she didn't fall down here. I hope she's okay..._

* * *

Arita was in fact more than okay. She was now skipping along through the dark, carrying her newly-acquired treasure under her arm.

_I can't wait to show this to Daddy. Maybe he'll have it made into a bouncy ball for Tiddles to play with. Or maybe a stress ball for Mummy: she keeps getting angry whenever Aunt Zenna's talking to Daddy. I wonder why?_

_Oh, I know: a football! Yeah! Then me and Daddy can play together in the garden_.

As she reached this joyful conclusion, she noticed that the floor up ahead seemed to be lit up. Drawing closer, she found that it was not the floor, but rather the large hole in the floor. Like the one her Father may have fallen down, this one had been built as such, except this one was much larger, covering the whole floor, and the other side ended in a solid wall. Clearly she had reached the end of the tunnel.

It took her all of three seconds to decide upon a course of action.

Placing her feet right on the edge of the hole, she bent her knees, and launched herself into a cannonball dive down the hole, crying "Geronimooooooooooo..."

* * *

Soloman was very glad to see that the tunnel was heading towards some sort of well-lit room. _Good. Maybe now we'll be able to shed some light on this place._

Then he groaned out loud as he realised what an awful pun he had just made.

Keeping one hand firmly on the handle of his axe, he walked right up to the end of the tunnel, and then carefully stuck his head out.

The room was small and circular, with proper lamps on the walls instead of torches. Around the edge of the room, like a border, were lots of tables that followed the curve of the wall. The one place the tables didn't cover was at the far end of the room, where there stood a bucket directly under a small hole in the ceiling, like the vent he had fallen down.

Upon these tables were lots of golden instruments. Some looked liked telescopes, or weird television screens, while other looked like surgical tools. There were also plates upon which stood various items, many of which were giving off a rather awful smell, including something large covered by a sheet.

The center of the room was empty, except for a rough sack laid across a pile of straw, as some sort of bed, and at the very centre was a large shiny orb, which appeared to be reflecting the lamp light to further improve the lighting of the room.

It was clear to Soloman that this was some sort of make-shift research room, with the researcher sleeping down here to remain close to his work. He was also glad to see that this researcher was not here.

Having safely examined the room, he relaxed, and was about to step forward, when he a voice, echoing slightly, getting louder.

"...ooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

Soloman just had time to realise that the voice was coming from above him before something big landed on top of his head with such force that, for the second time that day, his face was smacked into the floor.

"That was fun! Oh hello Daddy!"

Soloman sighed, partly out of exasperation, but mostly out of relief, since he recognised the voice. "Hello Arita" he said. Well, that's what he tried to say, but since his mouth was currently pressed against the cobblestone floor, it came out as a barely literate grumble.

Arita jumped off his head. "Daddy, are you all right?"

Soloman picked himself up. "Never better" he answered, feeling his battered face, and being pleasantly surprised by the fact that his nose seemed to have reset itself upon its second encounter with the floor.

Then he noticed what was tucked under Arita's arm. It was... unexpected. "Um, sweetie, why have you got that?"

Arita grinned broadly, and held it out in both hands for him to see more clearly. "Do you like it?"

Soloman smiled uneasily, hoping that it was Arita's daemonic inheritance from her Mother that was making her so blasé about her... acquisition. "Sweetie," he said, trying to sound unbothered, "that's a decomposing head. And given that it's clearly does not belong to a Tau, it's a head that's been mutilated by shearing off its nose and ears."

"I know" said Arita, still grinning. "I was thinking you could have it made into a football, so you and I can play in the garden. Do you think Mummy would mind if I used my bed sheets as the nets for the goals?"

Despite having been exposed, and thus largely acclimatised to the horrors of the daemonic realm, the fact that Arita looked human was making her sound really disturbing to Soloman. He was about to ask where she had got it from, when she turned around and noticed the room. "Oh wow! What's this?" she cried, and immediately dashed in.

_Not again._

With a sigh, Soloman followed her in. "Hold on sweetie: this place might be dangerous."

But Arita's attention was already focused on something else. "Look Daddy: another head! Now we can make two footballs."

_Another head?_

Soloman walked briskly over to where she stood, balancing on her toes to see onto the table. He looked for himself.

And he suddenly felt fear, as cold and as sharp as ice, wash over him.

He was standing before the table which had the 'large something covered by a sheet' on it. Except now he could see that the large something looked an awful lot like a body, but without a head.

The head in question was currently sitting in a glass jar of what appeared to be pale red jelly, looking like it was asleep.

And despite the fact said jelly made the head in question looked red in general, there was no mistaking that blond hair, nor the stench of Lily of the Valley.

It was Mortraz.

For a moment, Soloman just stood there, staring at his feet and feeling numb. This was then followed by horror, partly because now they had no chance at stopping Tzeentch's plan, and partly at the poor Mortraz's fate. Then he felt surprise at the fact that he was mourning for Mortraz as though he were a family member, as opposed to the effeminate daemon he had known for about a fortnight.

He tried to think of something to say, but all he ended up with was "...I'm sorry Mortraz" in little more than a whisper, still staring down.

Then there was a loud, but distorted yawn.

Soloman looked up, and found a pair of blue eyes staring back at him.

"Why hello Beef-cake. I am glad to see you."

"AAARRRGGGHHH!"

* * *

**Typicalteenager:** Uuuuummmm...

*Sneaks onto his account, uploads this chapter, and dashes off before his readers can gut him like a fish fillet for having not updated for months once again.*

Enjoy!


	28. One step a-head (or two)

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 28: One step a-head (or two)

* * *

"You know Beef-cake," said Mortraz's head, "one would think that after everything else you've seen, this would seem pretty mundane."

"Oh shut up" grumbled Soloman, picking himself off the floor, and grateful that he'd brought up his breakfast back at the vent and thus had had nothing in his bowels to vacate upon being presented with a talking disembodied head.

Arita was staring at Mortraz's head with wonder. "Oh wow! He can still talk!" She looked down at the head she was carrying. "Can you still talk as well?"

Thankfully for Soloman's sake, the other head remained silent.

Recomposing himself, he turned to address Mortraz's head. "Mortraz, what happened to you? Who did this?"

Mortraz gave the closest thing a head could manage to shrugging his shoulders, which was communicated surprisingly well. "I honesty have no idea. One minute I'm performing my afternoon dance recital on the balcony, and then suddenly I get a call telling me of an emergency that requires my expertises, only to get struck over the head with something when I arrive, and wake up to find myself with a sack over my head, my arms and legs bound, and being carried by some Daemon with broad shoulders." Mortraz gave a slight smile as a glazed expression came over his face. "Yes, very broad shoulders... and well-toned arms too..."

_Well_, thought Soloman, at _least he's not traumatised by the experience._ "Listen Mortraz, because this is very important: the last time we spoke you said you might be able to create a counter-potion to Tzeentch's concoction. Do you still think you can do it?"

Mortraz pursed his lips as he pondered. He stayed silent for a few moments, and then replied. "...Yes. Yes I can. I'll need my body back of course, but I can do it."

Soloman was so relieved he could have whooped for joy. At last things seemed to be going their way.

Arita shared his delight. "Hooray! That puts us one step ahead of old bird-brain!" She suddenly paused, and then laughed. "One step a-**head**! Get it? Because Mr. Mortraz is now a head?" She fell to her knees, almost crying with laughter.

Mortraz didn't share her amusement, looking rather miffed. Soloman could only assume that, while he hadn't been traumatised by his beheading, it must have still been painful to say the least. He turned to stare at the Blood God. "I'm surprised at you, Beef-cake. I would have thought you would have taught her better etiquette than that."

"W-What!" Soloman spluttered in indignation. "Me? How on Terra is this my fault?"

Mortraz opened his mouth-

-and whatever he said was drowned out but a deep, guttural growl.

Soloman slowly turned his head to stare at the dark passageway that he had walked along to reach this room only a few minutes earlier. "What," he asked apprehensively, "was that?"

Mortraz, usually so calm, was for once looking unnerved. "I do believe," he said, a slightly higher note to his voice than usual, "that my surgeon is on his way here."

Soloman gulped. Anything that made Mortraz nervous was something that he didn't want to deal with if possible, Blood God powers or not.

"Come on, we're leaving" he decided. Picking up the glass jar containing Mortraz's head, he handed to Arita. "Arita, you hold on to this. I'll carry the body."

"Hang on" said Mortraz. "There's only one exit, and our growling friend is coming along it. How are we supposed to escape?"

"Easy" replied Soloman, as he lifted the body up in his arms, and he nodded in the direction of their escape route. "Up that small vent."

Mortraz gazed at the hole. "That thing? We'll barely fit- even you can see that."

"Yes, but I also know that it doesn't have some daemonic surgeon in it. Now come on."

Marching up to the hole, Soloman lifted the body up and pushed it up into the vent. Holding it up with one arm, he felt inside, and found a ridge. Grasping with his fingers, he pressed one foot against the wall, and half-stepped, half-jumped up into the vent.

Thankfully the vent got a little wider inside, so that he was able to press his knees against one side, and his back against the other, holding himself in place. Still holding the body up above him with one arm, he reached down with the other. "Sweetie, pass up Mortraz."

Arita did as she was told, and Soloman, grasping the edge of the jar, lifted it up onto his lap, leaving his arm free to reach down again.

The growling was growing very loud as Arita, grasping the second head between her knees, pulled herself up by her arms into the vent, seating herself on her father's lap, with both heads held in her own lap.

"Right," Soloman whispered, "everyone stay still, and keep quiet."

Sliding his left knee slightly up the pipe, he shuffled his back up the pipe a little, before sliding up his right knee, and shuffling his back again. Left knee, shuffle, right knee, shuffle, left knee, shuffle...

* * *

... right knee, shuffle, left knee, shuffle, right knee-

"Daddy?"

"What is it Arita?"

His daughter looked at him with a glum expression. "I'm bored. And I'm hungry."

Mortraz twisted his head as best he could. "I too am bored and hungry."

Soloman sighed. "Well I'm sorry, but there's not a lot I can do about it. Unless you wish to start eating parts off your body?"

Mortraz wrinkled his nose at that suggestion. "Don't be vulgar."

"Well then I'm sorry" replied Soloman, "but you're just going to have to remain bored and hungry."

He didn't really blame them for feeling that way. He had been shuffling up this pipe for God-Emperor knows how long, and there was no end in sight. Having a bare torso meant his back was slowly being ruined, his skin feeling like it was scraping off like poorly-grated cheese, and the occasional click that sounded horribly like his spine scratching against stone. He couldn't see his knees in the darkness, but he could only imagine what state they were in. The one consolation about this was that his body had gone numb, including his arm, which was still pushing Mortraz's body up the vent before them.

However, the situation was still horrendous, given that they were in complete darkness, and the remnants of Soloman's breakfast, still spattered over his back, and the spare head Arita had found, were together filling the vent with the most awful smell.

All in all, it was a most unpleasant situation for the three of them. Arita sat on his stomach, with her knees up to her chin, while Mortraz had somehow ended up balancing on his crotch: a feat Soloman was sure he had managed to do deliberately despite his lacking a body.

Soloman sighed, and thought of his comfortable bed waiting back in the Keep. His thought then turned to Zeena and Slaanesh.

_I wonder what they're up to. Well, whatever it is, it must be better than this._

* * *

As it happened, whether you would consider what the two daemonettes were doing was better was a debatable point. At that moment, for reasons known only to themselves, they were both sitting in armchairs in what passed as the Keep's living room, each with several pieces of paper, trying to out-do each other in writing the latest opera with which to torment the citizens of the Imperium.

(**Typicalteenager:** The exact details of such operas, beyond their magical effects, are not known, but what does exist makes it clear that the old Imperial Gothic culture's reputation for the use of opera as a torture weapon, inherited from the early societies of Terra, may be partly due to subtle daemonic influence.)

The two of them had been going at it for several hours, and several earlier attempts littered the floor. The reason they were still going at it was because both of them were trying to write the most bone-chilling operas possible, which meant, that the temperature of the room had decreased with each written attempt, to the point that now the room rivalled most ice planets in terms of bitter coldness.

Although his thick skin allowed him to endure such low temperatures, Blud an' Gutz was smart enough -by Ork standards- to know that he didn't have to stay there and endure it, and so, after an internal struggle, since his 'inner Ork' compelled him to stay there and endure the cold simply to prove that he could, had left to decide what to cook for the evening meal.

Now, being relatively smart by Ork standards, Blud an' Gutz had recently paid a visit to the daemonic equivalent of a Dok and gotten a human stomach implanted in him, on the grounds of "makin' sure da Boss-ez food waz good e-nuf for him, coz Orks an' Hummies eat dif-fur-runt-lee".

Unfortunately, while this act was very commendable, it should be noted that even a smart Ork is, compared to any other species, still pretty dense (except Gretchin: dried grass is smarter than Gretchin), and poor Blud an' Gutz hadn't taken into account that he had an Ork's sense of taste and smell, not a human's. So when preparing the starter for the evening meal, to the Ork it looked appetising and smelt enticing, and upon having a small bowl of the soup for himself as a taste test found it to be delicious.

His Ork stomach, upon receiving the soup, agreed with him.

His new human stomach, on the other hand, reacted rather violently to the concoction. It spent about a minute making a desperate attempt to digest the soup, before giving up and deciding that the stuff had got to go.

So despite feeling that the meal was an epitome of Ork cuisine, Blud an' Gutz soon found himself with a strong burning sensation in his throat and the unmistakeable need to throw up.

Now this wouldn't be an issue for Blud an' Gutz, except he was surrounded by the food he intended for the evening meal, and he was pretty sure 'da Boss' would not react well to having his cook's breakfast and lunch as part of his dinner. He couldn't through up in the sink either –as Soloman had discovered upon chucking up one of his meals some time prior to the Ork's employment*, the sink was designed to drain water and of course blood, not the contents of one's stomach.

But thankfully that was not a problem. The main waste pipe for the Keep ran down the outside of the wall, a few feet from the kitchen door. Blud an' Gutz walked over to the door, then through it, went over to the main waste pipe, opened the inspection hatch, forced his head through, and finally showed mercy to his human stomach by emptying the soup down the pipe.

After this rather tedious experience –since the food had been delicious to the Ork, and it was annoying that his 'hummie stum-ak waz so weak'- the Ork pulled his head out, closed the hatch, and headed back to the kitchen.

He was just about to open the door to enter when he heard a distant squeal, followed by muffled cries, all of which were echoing. In order to echo like that, it would have to be coming from the waste pipe.

Puzzled, Blud an' Gutz went back over to the pipe and opened the hatch again.

His reward for this was to have his ears filled with pain as the shrill cries now clearly and audibly echoed up to the hatch.

"MY BEAUTIFUL BODY! DEFILED! STAINED! RUINED! SWEET MERCIFUL BEEF-CAKE PLEASE LET THIS BE A BAD DREAM!"

Blud an' Gutz wasn't quite sure what all the fuss was about, but he got the feeling that someone was not very happy.

* * *

**Typicalteenager:**

Okay: even I'm aware how ridiculously long it has been since I updated this.

Therefore, I **PROMISE** –and you can hold me to this- that there will be another chapter uploaded before the end of the month.

You have my word.

(Instantly starts planning the next chapter in order to maximise his chances of avoiding being torn apart by angry readers).

* * *

*Back in Chapter 16: how long has it been since I wrote that? Probably too long.

(Checks and sees September 2010)

...Geez.


	29. Skull throne strategising

Warhammer 40K

Soloman the Blood God

By typicalteenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not, and never will, own 40K, the characters etc.

**Important:** 1) This is only my second ever fanfic, so it may not be that good.

2) Thoughts are in Italic.

3) Book entries, letters etc. are in Bold Italic.

Well, here we go!

* * *

Chapter 29: Skull throne strategising

* * *

That evening - time-wise, as opposed to any change in light - the Keep was equal parts noise and silence, chaos and order.

The noise and chaos were emanating from the dining room, currently acting as a make-shift surgical theatre for Mortraz's head reattachment surgery. The effeminate daemon had been very difficult about the whole affair, especially since Mortraz, despite having a degree in doctoring, couldn't perform the surgery on himself, meaning the operation would have to be performed by the only other being who was even close to a surgeon, which was Blud an' Gutz. Zeena and Slaanesh had tried to convince him that it was fitting and 'poetic', since it would be Blud an' Gutz making up for getting his breakfast splattered all Mortraz's body, but the daemon wasn't buying it. It was only after Slaanesh had threatened to take photos of him in his current state and send them out for all to see that he begrudgingly accepted. But he was soon making a lot of fuss again as Blud an' Gutz made several attempts to get the daemon's head attached right.

The silence was present in the throne room, where, upon his throne of skulls, Soloman sat, his mind providing the order, as he pondered on an important subject.

The subject being how to deal with Tzeentch.

On the face of it, things seemed to be in their favour. They knew about Tzeentch's plan: contaminate the water of the city islands with some sort of potion, which would drive any daemonic citizen who drank it into a rabid frenzy, and reducing any 'higher' daemons into what was effectively the daemonic equivalent of a drunkard. Why: most likely to weaken the other God's forces, as they would either be suffering the effects of the potion, or having to deal with the sufferers, while his own servants, having either avoided the potion-laced water or perhaps immunised somehow, would be able to overcome and conquer the other cities with little effort, placing Tzeentch as ruler over all of Chaos. A rather simple, but ultimately effective plan.

But Mortraz had worked out how to create a counter-potion to deal with this threat. All they had to do was make it, either in a large enough quantity and put it in the water, or in mass production and distribute it to everyone. Problem solved.

However, there was one important issue that nagged at Soloman, one which had the potential to change everything. His teachers and instructors at his local imperial guard academy may have only given the tiniest scraps of info on Chaos, as dictated by the Inquisition, but one important point regarding Tzeentch had been made.

That point was that Tzeentch was the closest Chaos had to a God of Intelligence.

As a God of Intelligence, Tzeentch should be a genius. And the thing about geniuses was that you never knew just how smart they were. Was what Soloman and his friends had discovered all there was to Tzeentch's plans? Or was that just the tip of the iceberg?

The more the Blood God thought about it, the more he compared his situation to a chess game, where he was a novice, while Tzeentch was a top-tier champion. The problem was, 'top-tier champion' could simply mean that he would have a countermove to each of Soloman's moves, or could mean Tzeentch would win the game before Soloman had even sat down to play. He simply had no idea, and that uncertainty could be their undoing.

Because if Tzeentch was the highest kind of genius, then he may already have set up a dozen countermeasures to stop them using the counter-potion in case they found out about it. Or maybe he had spies who had already informed him of Mortraz saying he could make a counter-potion. God-Emperor, for all they knew their so-called counter-potion might make things worse.

The only way they could guarantee any sort of success, as far as Soloman could tell, was to try and find out how intelligent Tzeentch truly was, and adjust any plan they made accordingly. The question was how to do it. And another question was if Tzeentch was already expecting this, and would modify his behaviour to throw them off. Or indeed if he acted normally, knowing that they would suspect his behaviour and search in vain for the real him when it was right in front of them.

Soloman pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he sighed. Forget a chess game: this situation was more like a childish argument between two kids as to who was smarter.

_I knew you'd do that, so I prepared this. __**Well I knew that you knew I'd do that and thus you'd do that, so I brought this.**__ Well I knew that you knew that I knew you'd do that in response to my doing this which was in response to you doing that, so I arranged for this. __**Well I knew that you knew**__… etcetera, etcetera._

Soloman sighed again. From the dining room, he could hear Mortraz's voice echoing through the Keep, complaining about 'Dok' Blud an' Gutz's latest attempt at head reattachment surgery ("How, in the name of Beef-cake, did you end up mistaking that for my neck! And I'm facing the wrong way round too!").

The Blood God knew he had to do something: he just didn't know what. Usually, to take any action, even the wrong one, meant that there was at least some minute chance of success, whereas inaction guaranteed failure. But here, with Tzeentch quite likely to be a tactical mastermind, a wrong action was just as bad as no action.

And sitting here and thinking was apparently not going to help him either.

"Daddy?"

Arita was standing on the steps before him, looking up at him with a mixture of bewilderment and concern.

Soloman lifted his days-old daughter up onto his lap. "What is it sweetheart?"

"Is something wrong Daddy? You look weary."

The Blood God ruffled his daughter's pink hair. "It's alright sweetheart. I'm just trying to outthink possibly the greatest mind in all the realms of Chaos."

"But you can do it, can't you Daddy?"

Soloman sighed yet again, a slight smile on his face. "I wish I had your confidence Arita, but we're talking about a being who knows everything. Golden Throne, he may even know what I'm planning before I myself have thought of it. That's the level of intellect and cunning we… may…"

Soloman suddenly went silent. His face had taken an amazed expression.

"Daddy?"

"…be planning."

Slowly, but surely, Soloman' face progressed from a look of amazement to a smile, and then from a smile to a smirk, and finally from a smirk to an almost predatory grin.

"Who knows everything…"

He at last had the beginnings of a plan.

* * *

The dining room was in quite a state when Soloman came in carrying Arita. There was a far bit of liquid splattered over the walls, which was congealing like porridge, not to mention a pile of assorted limbs, a hacksaw, and what appeared to be a blow torch modified to connect to a massive gas tank.

Mortraz was sitting on the table, his arms folded and his head sewn at a peculiar angle onto his neck, glaring at Blud an' Gutz, who in turn looked back at Mortraz with confusion, one hand scratching his head, the other hand scratching his builder's crack. Zeena and Slaanesh were both sitting in a corner, looking tired and bored. They both perked up when they saw the Blood God and his daughter.

"There you two are!"

"Honey! We were just thinking about you."

Soloman, still smiling, placed Arita in Slaanesh's arms. Giving her a little kiss on the forehead, he said "You stay here and be good for your mother now, okay?", and made to walk out of the room again.

The two daemonettes looked puzzled. "Where are you going?" they asked in unison.

Soloman glanced back at them. "It's alright ladies. I'm just going to pay a house call to Tzeentch" he answered, as he continued out of the room.

…

…

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Zeena and Slaanesh stared at the door through which Soloman had just exited, as did Mortraz and Blud an' Gutz, Soloman's statement having gotten their attention.

The jaws of three of them dropped open: Blud an' Gutz merely raised a thick eyebrow (or rather the portion of his face above his eye where an eyebrow would be if he wasn't an Ork), while Arita was giggling at her Mother's and Godmother's shock.

"WHHHHHAAAAATTTTTT!"

* * *

**Typicalteenager:**

Well, I promised I would upload another chapter before the end of the month, and this time I've kept my promise (if only just!). Please enjoy.

And since it's being uploaded on the evening of the 31st of December, and thus many of you will be reading this tomorrow, have a Happy New Year! Here's hoping your 2013 is as good as (or preferably better than) your 2012.


End file.
